


Sabor a Mi (A Taste of Me)

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Body Horror, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Extremely Dubious Consent, Forced Feminization, Intersex Dean Winchester, Lactation Kink, M/M, Male Lactation, Mpreg, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-19 00:41:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16130012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Written for the below prompt on the kink meme."John always loved Mary's breast milk, so when he finds a spell/hormones that can make men lactate, he starts dosing Dean. Dean's horrified by the changes in his body but John and little Sammy love suckling his tits so much there's no way they're going to give this up. Can take it as far as completely feminizing Dean.This could be written as a/b/o if that's what writer prefers."Warnings: This story has underage sex, lactation kink, feminization, dub-com/non-com, mpreg. John is an abusive, manipulative asshole.Seriously. This story is all kinds of messed up. You probably shouldn’t read it.





	Sabor a Mi (A Taste of Me)

The deal had been done, the money was in John Winchester's pocket, and now he was just shooting the shit with the guy. Hunting took a lot more cash than you'd think and while credit card scams, hustling pool and poker helped, it was nowhere near enough. So John did these deals, it was a lot of "I know a guy who knows a guy" kind of stuff, but he trusted Skinny Pete, as far as such things went. Skinny Pete, as you'd expect, weighted about 450 pounds, easy, but John could get his hands on the kind of ordnance civilians normally couldn't, nothing too big, but claymores, that sort of thing, and Skinny Pete could get his hands on a pile of cash in unmarked, non-sequential twenties, so that was a good enough basis for a relationship. 

So, deal done, they were drinking moonshine from jelly jars, Skinny Pete's grandma's work, he claimed and they were talking about some of the other kinds of merchandise Skinny Pete was a middleman and merchant of. Experimental and illegal drugs, not street drugs, but the sort of thing that was legal elsewhere in the world. Most it was as common and harmless as the codeine that you could buy on the shelf in Canada, but some of it was pretty exotic.

"Now this shit," Skinny Pete said, tapping a clear fronted cooler with his cane. Inside were rows and rows of little brown vials. "Was liberated from clinical trials they're running in Africa right now. It'll never sell in the states though, not unless they can reformulate. It's an injectable. You will not believe what that shit does."

"Try me," John said, taking another sip. The moonshine was deceptively smooth and went down way to easy for what it was. His head was already starting to spin a little. 

"It's a galactologue. Make your tits give milk. It's super effective and fast. On anyone. Men. Children. I tried it myself," Skinny Pete said. Of course he had. Skinny Pete tried just about everything he sold, wouldn't sell anything he couldn't stand behind. "Half a pint of milk out of these fat man tits of mine a couple of hours after just a single dose and I wasn't even trying hard. Crazy, huh?"

Maybe it was just the moonshine talking, but John's mouth was suddenly watering in memory of the sweet breastmilk that Mary had never denied to him, so long as he left enough for her babies. She'd even let him nurse side by side with little Dean, or she would ride his cock and let him squeeze her tits, so that she sprayed all over his chest and face. Suddenly, John knew, he just knew. He had to get his hands on the drug in those little brown vials.

"Injectable, you said?" John asked.

"Yeah, reason it'll never catch on in this form. You have to shoot it right into the tit itself. Not most people's idea of a good time."

Skinny Pete was not most people. He grinned, big and toothy. His left upper bicuspid had been replaced by a gold crown. "You wanna try it, Johnny?"

"Not on me. I have...someone in mind," John said. "Are there side effects?"

"Everything has side effects. Let me tell you about this hair growth drug I ran across once."

Skinny Pete had a mop of coarse, salt and pepper curls that grew to midway down his back, as thick and luxurious as any woman's hair.

"What about it?" John asked. 

"About twelve years ago, I weighed a hunnert and forty pounds maybe an' I was as bald as an egg," Skinny Pete said. Skinny Pete was about six foot six. If he was telling the truth, he would have truthfully been skinny once, almost skeletal. "Totally worth it to get my hair back though. But this stuff seems pretty safe. The only thing that happened to me is that my fat man titties got bigger, but chances are you want that to happen to your someone anyway, right?" 

"It expensive?"

"Ah, hell, I can't give that crap away," Skinny Pete said. "It's just taking up room in my cooler. Tell you what, you promise you keep an eye out for some RPGs for me and I'll give you all you need to get a brick wall lactating. You'd be doing me a favor taking it off my hands."

"Yeah, I know a guy who knows a guy who might want to move some RPGs," John said. 

Which is how he'd ended up with a small drinks cooler with a dozen little brown glass vials and several of those blue ice packs, a big box of insulin syringes and a photocopy of a hand written instruction sheet. He'd spent the night sleeping off the moonshine in the back of the Impala so he looked and felt his best as he drove back to Shelbyville, where he'd parked Dean and Sam in a hotel overnight. It wasn't far, as such things went, only about three hours away from Skinny Pete's warehouse. As he drove, he knew that it wasn't just the moonshine that was making him lightheaded. At the thought of using those little glass vials, his dick chubbed up so hard he had to palm it, just to relieve some of the pressure, then eventually, as he turned off onto the nearly empty state route, he pulled off to the side of the road and pulled his cock out of his pants to stroke it. He came hard and fast, just thinking about drinking breast milk again, right from the source. Then he put himself back into his pants and drove back to the hotel as fast as he could. 

It was summer, so even though it was a Tuesday, the boys were home from school, but they weren't in the room.

***

 

Sam, as usual, was being a total pain the ass dorkbutt. Dean was standing on the concrete pool deck, trying to talk to Letitia Zaccaro, Lettie. She was the daughter of the motel manager and she was fourteen too. She had the prettiest smile and she was kind of pear shaped, not much to fill up the tiny top of her bikini, but her rear could just drive Dean to distraction, the way the knit fabric of her bikini bottoms stretched across her profound ass, turning the little polka dots into horizontal ovals by the pressure they were subject to. By distraction Dean meant that just looking at her could make his dick get hard, but then just about anything could do that these days. Even so she kind of seemed to like him, no doubt because she didn't know the real him and his secrets. 

The loose swimsuit hid his biggest secret. And thank God he'd avoided the bitch tits that some male carriers had. His chest was as flat as any real boy's. Dad always said he shouldn't be ashamed of what he was, that he wasn't less a boy for having a vagina and uterus, but that he was more than any regular boy. That was bullshit, of course. He wanted, more than anything, to just be a normal boy. Well, sort of. There were a lot of things about this body of his he wouldn't want to give up. Orgasms with something inside him were awesome.

So, he was trying to talk to Lettie, but his dork butt brother was trying to pull him into the pool. Sam was splashing his legs and alternately grabbing his ankles and trying to yank him in. Even so, he thought he was making pretty good progress with Lettie. Not that he'd do anything but pass the time with her. Dad wouldn't put up with him hooking up with any girls or boys, and not that Dean wanted sex with anyone else but Dad. Still, Dean had discovered that it was a hell of a good time just flirting with them. Like a game, but where the result of a winning move was a smile, or a warm look in the eye that just seemed to fill something up inside Dean.

Lettie smiled at him and her teeth flashed white against the dark berry color of her lips. Dean was pretty sure that was lipstick, but her skin was dusky too, about the same color that Dad took his coffee. It was just such a pretty combination, especially with her long, dark brown, almost black curls. "Your little brother sure is funny," she said, looking down at Sam's antics. "I used to have a little sister."

She looked sad at that, but before he could ask her about it, take the sympathy route to her affections, Sam grabbed at his leg in just the right way, collapsing his knee, and he was pulled head first into the pool with a big splash. Dean avoided swallowing any pool water or breathing any in, but cold water was a shock to the system. Dean tried to grab his asshole brother, but Sam was as sleek as a seal in the pool and he slid away from Dean's grip, so of course Dean had to swim after him. There were things far more important that talking with Lettie, like putting the smack down on his pain in the ass brother. 

Dean had just caught Sam's ankle when Lettie called loudly, "Sam! Dean! Your Dad is coming."

Dean dropped Sam's ankle instantly and stood up on the pool bottom. He headed for the side immediately. So did Sam. They didn't have permission to be swimming in the motel pool, though they hadn't been actually forbidden from doing so. With John Winchester though, you kind of had to assume that unless an activity was officially sanctioned by him, it was forbidden. They made it to the pool deck by the time that Dad had entered the chain link fence pool enclosure. Dad gave him a funny look, one that Dean couldn't read and he'd gotten particularly literate in reading the book of John Winchester. It was intense, but not at all angry, like Dean had been anticipating. 

"Back to the room," Dad said. "Now."

 

***

"It's okay, Dean. I'm not angry with you at all. I know how tempting the pool is on a hot summer day like today," John said, keeping his voice pleasant and light. He could be harsh, far too harsh, with Dean sometimes, but his boy was just so damn beautiful when he was crying. It was too tempting. Just like it was too tempting now. "Just come to bed. I have something for you."

At John's direction, Dean shed his still dripping swimsuit and climbed into bed with his father. He was lovely, far more lovely than any other fourteen year old John had ever seen. Training had hardened his body and made it graceful. His eyes were deep green and surrounded by lush, smoky lashes, his hair was brown, but faded to almost blond by the sun. Dean's skin smelled of chlorine. The smattering of freckles on that skin had almost faded into the tan that glowed on his skin. There was a sharply demarcated tan line at the boy's lower hip line and his perfect round ass was pale, almost white. 

John laid back against the headboard, then tore open a condom package. He rolled it down carefully over his erect length, squeezing out all the air bubbles, making sure he'd left room at the tip. Then John indicated the hard on that sprouted from his nest of pubic hair. Dean climbed on without having to be told more, though he did hesitate for a moment rubbed the tip of John's cock back and forth from one hole to the other, as if not certain which of them John intended to use at the moment. John grabbed Dean by the hips and pulled him back and down, impaling him, seeking the slick, tight depths of his pussy. He couldn't help the moan at how good it felt to have that hot tightness around his cock. Dean was already making sounds too, ohs and ahs, loving his Daddy's cock.

From the other side of the room, young Sam whined, "I'm trying to watch cartoons. You're fucking him too loud."

John chuckled a little. Try as he might, he hadn't yet been able to interest Sam in helping him out with Dean and Dean's greedy pussy. He wasn't going to force Sam, of course. Instead of trying to keep Dean quiet, John began thrusting harder, trying to make Dean come undone, to make his sweet little boy shout even, especially fun as Dean had heard Sammy too and was now doing his best to keep himself silent. He'd shoved the side of his hand into his mouth, trying to gag himself. Dean's chest was heaving, breathing heavy, and he tensed with the effort. 

"Such a pretty cunt," John said. "Always so eager for me. You love to fuck your Daddy, don't you, cunt?"

"Yeah, more. Please," Dean begged. "Touch me."

"Sexy bitch. You beg so pretty. You'd do anything to get that pussy of yours filled with come, wouldn't you?"

Dean answered only with a cry of, "Oh!" and then he began rolling his hips, frantically fucking himself down on John's cock. 

John stopped him, put heavy hands on Dean's hips, stopped his motion. 

***

It was kind of disturbing to Dean just how much it turned him on to be called those names. Sexy bitch. Cunt. It was far more disturbing than the simple fact that it was his father calling him those names and sticking his cock up Dean's pussy. He wasn't a woman, not a chick. Just having a cunt, a pussy, that alone wasn't enough to make him a girl. He was all guy, other than some of his sex parts and this one, rebellious little bit of him that insisted that it needed things, needed a cock in it. Needed a particular cock. 

John, that's how Dean tried to think of him when they were in bed together, stopped his hips, held him still. Stopped fucking him, right when Dean had been on the verge of coming. It just wasn't fair. His balls started to ache already. He tried to move, tried to squirm and wriggle his hips on John's rock hard dick, trying to get what he needed to come, even though he wasn't being permitted any motion at all. 

"You'd do anything to come right now, wouldn't you?" John asked. "Anything at all."

"Yeah," Dean said, clapping a hand over his mouth after he'd said it. He wanted to have not said it. He hated to have admitted being that needy, that weak. Boys, men, maybe they might have felt certain needs, but they did their best not to express them. A man didn't beg to get off. He went out and grabbed his orgasm by the balls, even if he was being fucked rather than doing the fucking. 

"I'll let you come after you do this one thing for me," John said. "Just hold still for me, no matter what happens next."

John rolled him off and laid him out on the bed. Dean could have just about cried at the feeling of his empty pussy. John reached for something he'd set up on the bedside table. Whatever it was that John wanted from him, it was something that he'd set up before he'd gone to retrieve the boys at the pool. John had two things in his hands, the first was some kind of alcohol wipe, because he swiped it over Dean's chest in two spots, one near each nipple. The other thing was a syringe, nearly full of a clear fluid. Before Dean could protest, say anything at all, John had grabbed Dean by the skin over his flat chest and he'd jammed the syringe into Dean's flesh and depressed the plunger. Then, immediately, as Dean watched immobile with shock, he reached over to the bedside table and grabbed the second syringe and stuck it into Dean into much the same way. It wasn't until the second injection that Dean got together enough to holler. He let himself scream far, far more than the actual pain would have made him, because, what the hell?

"It's okay," John said, gathering him into his arms, kissing his face. "All over. Not that bad, right?"

"What the hell was that, old man? Some kind of weird sex torture? Because I told you, I am so not down with that. You want whips and chains you go to a professional or something."

The truth was, Dean actually could probably have gotten into some of that stuff. He'd seen a couple of videos that John thought he had better hidden in his stuff than he did. The parts where the carrier boy had gotten his tiny boy tits played with made Dean's cock hard, especially when the boy's nipples had been flicked at until he moaned, then the clamps tugged at. The bit where the Daddy type had taken the young carrier boy over his knee and spanked him hard with a black leather paddle had made Dean squirm first, then come hard into his own fist, with a muffled shout on his lips. It hadn't escaped his notice that the carrier boy had light brown hair and green eyes and the daddy type had dark brown hair and a scruffy, stubbly face. But it was just about all the kink Dean could handle at the moment that he was fucking not a Daddy type, but his actual Daddy. 

"Nothing like that, Dean. Not at all," John said, reassuringly. 

"Can you guys keep it down?" Sam said, peevishly. "I already asked once. I'm trying to watch TV here."

"If it wasn't sex torture, what was it? What'd you do to me? What was that stuff? My chest hurts," Dean said. He looked at the place where John had injected him. His nipples were kind of puffy and there had been enough fluid injected into them that they'd kind of swollen up, like he had miniature tits. They were bigger than Lettie's even.

 

***

John looked at the syringe. He'd been thinking ever since he'd gotten the drugs from Skinny Pete just how he was going to explain them to his son, get him to agree to take them. Bold deception was about the best strategy he'd come up, with a side of partial truth. 

"It's an experimental drug I got from Skinny Pete. It'll give you tits temporarily. I just wanted to see what my sexy bitch would look like with breasts," John said. 

It was amazing, actually, just how much Dean's chest had swollen up in the few short minutes since the injection. He had two breast buds now, just like a girl at the start of adolescence. Dean's nipples had flushed, from rosy-brown against his summer tan skin to red. He reached out and touched Dean's left breast, squeezed it as gently as he could. 

"Temporary?" Dean asked. He squeezed the other breast bud himself and winced a little at the pressure that he put on it himself. "Okay, but I'm not leaving this motel room until they're gone. I don't want anyone to see me like that. I'm enough of a freak without boobs too."

John ached to hear Dean describe himself like that. He loved his son's pussy, the way that it was so hidden away and secret, until you coaxed Dean to spread his legs, revealing it like it was some treasure. It wasn't like male carriers were particularly rare either. Ten percent of boys born these days were carriers, or at least in some way partially intersex. John had lucked out with Dean. He was a complete carrier- he had not just a vagina, but a uterus and two fully functional ovaries in addition to a fully functional penis and testes. Dean was fully capable of having a baby, hence John's fanatical use of condoms, even when what he wanted was just to plunge his cock, bare back, into Dean's hot, tight pussy. While Dean was a stunning young man, what John really wanted, what he yearned for, was for Dean to embrace his more feminine side, to let the world know that he was more than just a boy. 

John had bought Dean make up, only to have it completely ignored, except maybe quick slash of lipstick put on to please John, and wiped off again as soon as sex was over. John had bought Dean clothes more suited to a carrier- the pink shirt, a shaped, cropped leather jacket to replace the oversized hand me down from John that Dean clung to in a way that was almost unhealthy, jeans that were tight. All of those had been ignored in favor of grays and blues, loose, sloppy clothes. Clothes that belonged on a boy that was all boy and nothing but. And though John had tried to forbid him haircuts, to get him to grow his hair long, Dean had snuck out again and again, finding the money for a hair cut, so his hair never made it past his ears, much less to his collarbone as John would have liked. 

"Of course, sweetheart," John said. "Now, I said I'd let you come, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you kind of promised," Dean said. 

So, John reached for his young lover again, starting fresh, trying to get Dean's deflated cock to rise again. He lowered his head to Dean's chest and he licked Dean's red nipples gently. Dean moaned at the touch, closed his eyes and let his head loll back. John massaged Dean's breast buds with just the lightest touch, thinking that they probably hurt, they had to, if they'd grown just that fast. Dean groaned and his hips began to move of their own accord. I could make him to come only from nipple stimulation, John thought, but for the moment, his own cock was aching, his balls heavy with come that needed to be released. 

"I need to come inside you, Dean," John said. 

"Yeah, anything," Dean murmured and he turned over onto his belly, hoisting his hips up, so that his ass was presented. 

John stripped off the condom then grabbed the lube again. He slicked himself up and then mounted Dean, pressing forward. Dean's hole yielded, easily. They'd done this so many times over the years that they didn't need preparation any more. Even so, Dean's body was hot and tight around him, so much so that John could feel his cock twitch inside of Dean. It wouldn't be long before he came, so he reached around and grabbed Dean's cock, giving it a fast and steady tug, even as he himself tried not to move, not to come. It didn't take Dean long until he was crying out and bucking against John, coming in a small smear on John's hand, and that was all it took for John to come, Dean's muscles tightening on his cock. He couldn't stop his hips from thrusting, nor his hands from tightening on Dean's hips. His balls tightened up. He could hardly breathe. Then he just let go. He could feel his come paint the inside of Dean's guts and he wished more than anything that he could come like this into Dean's pussy. They both collapsed against the bed, John resting on top of Dean, until the boy squirmed and John kind of scooted over so he wasn't entirely smothering Dean, but he didn't have to withdraw his still hard cock from Dean's ass just yet.

"You're not half bad, old man," Dean said. "And whatever is in that stuff, it sure made my nipples feel good. Can you?"

Dean didn't have to ask twice. John pulled carefully out of Dean and rolled them both over, so that Dean was on his back and he hovered over Dean. Even though John didn't get a rise out of himself again that afternoon, he spent well over two hours, just playing with Dean's new little breasts, caressing them, licking them. Suckling on them, hoping to catch the first drops of the milk that should be coming in any time. There was no milk, yet, but John coaxed a series of dry orgasms out of Dean that caused him to shake and shudder, then moan in a way that made Sam glare at them again and turn up the TV louder every time it happened.

"You know, I have to give you another dose of that stuff, for full effect," John said, eventually. 

"Only temporary, right?" Dean asked, again. 

Temporary was all a matter of opinion, right? Because John had no intention of ever letting Dean's tits get small and disappear again. Even if they never gave milk, it was far, far too much fun to play with them like this. 

"So I can give you a dose?" John asked. Dean nodded. He grabbed another vial out of the fridge where he'd stashed them earlier. He stuck a fresh, new syringe into the rubber stopper and pulled the clear fluid out of the vial. He flicked it to send any stray bubbles to the top, then depressed the plunger to squeeze them out. He prepared another syringe. He was giving Dean the maximum recommended dose, more than twice the amount that Skinny Pete had used on himself. The drug didn't just stimulate the milk flow, but according to what the man had said and what was written on the instruction sheet, the more that was used, the more the glandular tissue that actually produced the milk would be stimulated, made to grow and could, over time, increase the number of them. This drug supposedly actually increased the size of the alveoli where the milk was made. It wouldn't shrink back down once the stimulation of the drug was gone. Dean's little tits would be here to stay, barring reduction surgery and maybe they'd get even bigger before John ran out of the drug.

This time, when John injected him, Dean squirmed and pressed his lips together in pain, but he didn't actually cry out. God, but wasn't he beautiful when he was in pain like that. John's cock filled. Dean had outright forbidden even talk of what he called, "that sex torture stuff," but John knew that his son was also putty in his hands and there were ways of easing him into it so gradually he'd hardly know what was happening. 

As it was though, John finished with Dean's injection then thumbed his swollen, angry red nipples. They'd been sucked and touched for hours now. John flicked the tips of them with his fingers and Dean moaned, "Daddy, please."

"PIease what, baby girl," he asked. "You need me to stick my cock up your ass again?"

"Just please. Feels so good it hurts,' Dean said. With that, John laid Dean on the bed again, face down, hips propped up. Dean's new tits and the thought of the milk to come soon was just so damn hot, just made John's cock hard as a board. He plundered Dean's ass fast and thoroughly, leaving another load of come in less than five minute. It started dripping out right away. 

Dean whimpered when he realized his Dad was done with him for now. "Left me hanging," he complained. 

"How many times have I made you come this afternoon?" John asked. "Go clean up, dirty girl."

Dean obediently went to the shower, limping slightly. It'd been a while since his ass had been used twice in a single afternoon. He muttered something on his way that might have been, "'m a boy."

***

It started happening in the shower. At first he thought he was imagining things, but there was a fluid gathering on the tips of his sore, aching nipples that definitely wasn't water. It was white, pearl colored almost. It gathered in little beads on the tips of his nipples, then coalesced into a stream that ran down his breasts and onto his belly. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought it was milk coming out of his new, tiny puffy tits. That was what it certainly looked like. 

"Dad!" he screamed. "Dad!"

A moment later, Dad entered the bathroom. He looked around the shower curtain where the water still poured down around Dean. "What's going on, Dean?"

"Something's coming out of my nipples," Dean said, and he held his right nipple in his hand to demonstrate. The fluid beaded up and dripped down. It just wouldn't stop. 

Instead of answering, John got in the shower with him and pushed him up against the tile. He bent his face down to Dean's left breast, because it had definitely, in a few short hours, grown to be a small breast, and he put his mouth on it. It felt so strange, feeling that mouth. It kind of hurt, but mostly it just felt good as John sucked on it, hard. Dean could feel tingling, like little pins and needles in his breast. More of the fluid was coming out. There was a steady flow on the side that wasn't in John's mouth and even though he couldn't see it, Dean could feel the fluid flow from his breast and into John's waiting mouth. In a moment, John switched breasts. As he moved from one to the other he said, "So good, you taste so good, baby."

"What?" Dean asked, as if he hadn't heard what John said clearly. 

John looked up from the breast and said, "Your milk tastes so good."

Then he attacked Dean's tits again and Dean knew he'd been tricked. That his Dad had deliberately deceived him about the purposes of the injection. It wasn't some thing to put temporary tits on him. It was making him drip milk, like a Mom for her babies. Or a cow. He struggled, tried to get himself out of John's arms, but he was stuck. John was just that much stronger than him. And besides, it felt so good, that mouth on his tit, that it was hard to concentrate. Slowly, he forced himself to relax, because it did feel good, that mouth and the way that the other tit dripped fast and freely. It wasn't like anything he'd ever felt before and his cock was getting hard again. 

Then just as Dean was getting into it, Dad took his mouth off. He lifted Dean's legs up, spread them and hiked them over his hips. Then he pressed right into Dean's pussy. Their coupling against the wall was urgent, his Dad pounding into him again and again like he wasn't able to control himself. Without warning, Dad came with a shout, as if his own orgasm surprised him. Only then did Dean realize just what had happened. 

"You came. In my pussy, without a condom," he said, shocked. Somehow that was more shocking to him than the fact that his father had just made him into some kind of cow, making milk like crazy. Like so much milk that it was letting down his chest without any kind of stimulation, just drip after drip of it. But Dad had never come in his pussy without a condom, had always been adamant that it could never happen. "You're gonna get me pregnant."

"I know, baby boy,' John said. "I'm sorry. I couldn't help myself. Don't worry, we'll get you the morning after pill or something. Let's get you out of the shower."

Dad toweled him off and together they left the bathroom, only to be confronted by Sam. 

"Are you guys done yet? Because you've been having sex for hours and I'm starving," Sam complained. Dean immediately tried to remember what kind of food they had on hand, if there were any Lucky Charms left, because it would take at least two bowls of them to get Sam out of a mood this foul.

"Dean's got something you can eat," Dad said. "Come closer. Open your mouth."

Before either of them could protest, Dad grabbed Dean's tit and he squeezed, hard. A big spray of milk left Dean and most of it landed in Sam's open mouth. Dean was expecting Sam to spit it out and act all grossed out, but he didn't. Not at all. He swallowed, maybe at first out of surprise, but then he opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue, as if asking for more. Dad sprayed more milk into Sam's mouth. How messed up was that? It was a huge whackadoo amount of messed up that Dad was milking him, milking him for god sakes, into his brother's open mouth. 

"Tastes good," Sam said. "Dean tastes really good. Like the milk after you've eaten all the Lucky Charms. Can I have more?"

"Sure thing, Sam," Dad said. "Come here. I'll show you how to get it right out of Dean yourself. You'll take care of your brother, won't you, Dean?"

Of course, Dad had to put it like that. Because there was just no freaking way that Dean could say no to Sam when it was put like that. Dean sighed. "Yeah, c'mon, twerp."

At Dad's direction, they all got into bed together, Sam on one side, Dad on the other, instructing Sam on how to get milk out of Dean, which apparently was more complicated than just sucking on the nipple. 

"Now, you have to pull as much of breast tissue into your mouth as you can. The ducts that you need to compress are actually in the tissue behind the nipple and underneath it. Just sucking hard on the nipple isn't going to get much, but it'll hurt Dean."

Suddenly, Sam's mouth position on his tit changed and a lot more of it was sucked into Sam's hard mouth. It just felt too damn weird. It didn't really hurt, but it didn't feel good either. And he just didn't even know if he should laugh, cry or just lie back and let it all happen. He was still trying, really, to get over the fact that he had boobs. He didn't just have boobs, he had fully functional tits. With milk. But he couldn't find it in him to fight his way out this bed, because it was Sammy at his tit, and hadn't he always done everything he could to take care of Sam.

"Just like that," Dad said. "Now, you kind of have to pull as you squeeze with your mouth. Kind of like pulling liquid through a straw. And you've got to kind of press up with your tongue. Make sure you don't use your teeth. No biting him."

Sam did just as Dad instructed and Dean whimpered, because it was kind of like someone had combined a vice grip with a vacuum cleaner and attached it to his nipple. A vice grip with teeth. Sam kept going and a kind of strangled moan escaped from Dean's lips and set jaw. Sam kept it up though, kept nursing with this kind of death grip, at least until Dad said something. 

"Hey, no need to work so hard," Dad said. "There's plenty in Dean and suckling harder isn't going to make more. And make sure you keep your teeth off him. You're hurting him, Sammy."

Sammy popped his mouth off Dean's tit. White fluid, milk, dripped out of his mouth. Milk that Dean had made. Sam swallowed, then he said, "I'm sorry, Dean. I didn't mean to hurt you. I'll be gentle."

***

Dean seemed on the verge of fighting and freaking out for quite a while, at least until Sam got his hands and mouth on him. Once Sam starting nursing on Dean, all the fight just fled from his carrier son. He laid back and let Sam suckle on him, especially once John had corrected Sam's technique, so that he was no longer actually hurting Dean. Sam was pretty much a natural for getting a good latch, he'd just needed to be told he didn't have to work it all so hard. It was a common mistake, to think that a harder suckle would bring more milk, but as Mary had taught him, the whole set up was designed to get milk into the mouths of babies, who weren't exactly known for their strength. 

After several minutes of Sam working Dean's new left breast, you could see Dean get more and more bonelessly relaxed. He even smiled a little and his hand came up to stroke Sam's hair. John had almost decided he could risk putting his own mouth on Dean's other tit when there was a knock at the door. Then a knock again. 

"Dean? Sam?" called a young, female voice. It was the little daughter of the motel manager. He'd seen Dean making time with her, not doing anything more than a little flirting. Totally harmless. Not that he didn't trust Dean, but he had a sudden, vicious need to let the little strumpet, with her polka dot bikini and round, perfect ass, know that Dean was off limits to her. In a moment, John had gotten out of bed and pulled his jeans on. 

"Guys? You left your towels at the pool and Sam? You left your book," she called through the door. Before Dean could even protest, John threw open the door. The place reeked like sex, obnoxiously musky. He wondered if she would know it for what it was. As someone who helped her dad out around the motel, no doubt she'd smelled it before, but she might be innocent as to its cause. Dean all but shrieked. He made a strangled noise and before the girl could look into the room, he threw the blanket over himself and Sam. There was some kind of struggle going on under the covers. Probably Dean trying to get Sam to disengage his mouth and Sam, little brat that he could be, not wanting to give up the tit that was feeding him delicious, sweet milk. 

"Good evening, Miss Zaccaro," John said. He gestured to the towels in the girl's hand. They were kind of threadbare, once colorful beach towels, now worn and limp, still damp probably. Sam's book was some spy thriller that he'd found abandoned in a restaurant, probably the kid didn't understand half of it, but Sam was such a voracious reader that he took to anything with words. "I can take those."

"Uh, okay," she said, with a weak smile. Just at the moment, there was a great scuffle from the bed, followed by an unmistakeable smack. 

"Jerk! Why'd you hit me?" Sam shouted from under the covers. 

"Because you bit me, bitch!" Dean responded. "Hurt me like that once more and you're never touching me again.'

"You're the bit--" Sam started, ending with the muffled sound of someone clapping a hand over his mouth.

"Boys!" John said. "Quit it with the wrestling. Come and say thanks to Lettie for bringing you your things."

John knew damn well that Dean was naked as a jaybird under the covers but he couldn't help himself. There was a venial, vicious part of him that loved to make Dean uncomfortable, humiliate him, even got off on it. But the brothers, despite their struggles a second ago, seemed to work as if they were two halves of the same mind. Sam, still dressed, popped out of the covers first, and as if not even thinking about it, he kicked a pair of Dean's abandoned shorts over to close enough for Dean to reach a hand out the covers for them. Sam then hurried over to Lettie, to distract her while Dean was putting his shorts on.

"Hey, Lettie! Dean n me were just fooling around," Sam said. "Is my place still marked in the book?"

"No, Sam, the place wasn't marked. You just left it face down and I accidentally knocked it over when I was moving chairs," Lettie said.

"It's okay," Sam said. "I'll find my place again easy."

Dean stuck a hesitant foot out from under the covers, followed by an instant withdrawal when he realized that Sam had only kicked him a pair of shorts, that his torso would be bare and his new tits would be on display. John took pity on him and tossed Dean a loose denim work shirt, one of his own. 

"Don't keep your lady friend waiting, Dean," John said. 

Dean pulled the shirt on while still under the covers and even when he was fully covered, his arms were crossed firmly, decisively in front of his chest. Of course, he didn't realize he'd have been better off to just let the shirt hang loose in the front, where it just sort drowned the boy in fabric. The position he had his crossed arms in pressed the breast tissue up, giving the definite impression of cleavage, at least to John. Dean crossed the motel room, shooting daggers at Sam and John. He couldn't, or wouldn't, meet Lettie's eyes, but instead, stared down at his feet as he reached out for the beach towels. 

"Thanksforbringingourtowelsbacklettie," he mumbled down at his feet. He held out one hand for them and when she put them in that hand, he mumbled again, "I'mjustgonnagohangthemuporsomething," before fleeing the room. He raced across the room to the bathroom and shut the door behind him. The click let John know that Dean had locked himself in. 

A second later, Lettie frowned, her brown cow eyes soft and vulnerable looking. She asked, "Is he okay?"

"Dad just spent the afternoon..." Sam started and the glare John gave Sam was enough to cut him off without a word.

John finished for him. "reaming him a new one for bringing Sam to a pool without a life guard."

"I'm..."

"A very capable young lady, no doubt, but not a life guard," John said. 

"Well, I just wanted to bring them their towels," the girl said. She seemed genuinely upset. She must have had one of those foolish teenage crushes on Dean. John was torn between jealousy and pride that his son had attracted such a pretty girl, because she was, without a doubt, about the prettiest girl John had laid his eyes on in some time. Prettiest girl, at least. She couldn't hold a candle to Dean.

"Much appreciated," he said, motioning to the door. "Good night, Miss Zaccaro. Tell your father I'll be in the office in the morning to pay for the week."

***

As soon as he hit the bathroom, Dean just about tore off his father's shirt, still feeling the hot flush of shame on his cheeks. He knew that his father seemed to get some kind of sick kick from putting Dean into situations where he was humiliated, but this was about the worst thing ever. Making him talk to Lettie with these things on his chest. Lettie, who was so nice and a beautiful girl and everything. She'd laugh at him when she realized that his tits were bigger than hers. No, she'd be disgusted. Like Michael at school over the spring, who'd seemed to really like Dean, until he found out Dean was really a carrier. Michael hadn't just been content with telling Dean he was a freak, but he'd told the whole school. Thank God North Haverbrook High was ten states away by now. 

Dean had been planning on examining himself in the mirror, to see if the tits were really as big as they felt, but he could hardly even bear to look at his body. Bit by bit, he forced himself to look. He started by keeping his eyes low. He looked at his lower belly in the mirror. That was just as it always had been, flat and with just the first hints of hair below his belly button. His treasure trail Dad had called it. His belly button was just the same as it'd always been. His eyes drifted up. Upper belly, just like normal, maybe a bit more tan this summer, but they were summering in New Mexico. 

Then there wasn't anything left to look at but his chest. He wrenched his eyes up and forced his arms to stop crossing over them. His nipples were bright red, matching the overworked, even painful feeling they had. They weren't...huge, he told himself, trying to see things objectively. But then he couldn't anymore. A sudden, unthinking revulsion flooded through him and he felt sick to his stomach. Like he was going to vomit. They were freaking huge. Massive. At least compared to the flat, boyish chest he'd had just that morning, they were mammoth. Boobs. He had boobs, the bitch tits that he'd always feared. There was no way around it any more. His secret wouldn't be a secret. Everyone who looked at him would know he was a carrier now.

"Dean?" Sam called through the door. "Are you coming out? I want more milk. I'm still hungry."

And though Dean didn't know why, all of a sudden, his tits were weeping milk again, just dripping down. For some reason, he wasn't even thinking really clearly, that caused him to start rummaging in the big first aid kit that they kept in the bathroom at every place they'd stayed. He dug through it, spilling its contents all over the counter and the floor. He wasn't even sure what he was looking for until he came across the big, bent handled utility scissors. Even once he had those in his hands, there was only a little part of him that was prepared to follow through. He just stood there a long time, trembling, tit in one hand, scissors in the other, that buggaboo in his head telling him to just cut them off. In the distance, he could hear his father and Sam talking at him through the door, getting louder and louder, but it was like he was swimming and immersed in water. Nothing came through to him clearly. 

When the door burst open under the force of John Winchester's shoulder, Dean was still holding the scissors, not able to convince himself to either put down the damn scissors nor to make the first cut, which he knew would bring him a whole world of hurt. But he held them open and pressed up against the tender, soft skin on the underside of his new left breast. Just like every blade in John Winchester's possession, the blades of the scissors were precisely, viciously sharp. Dean could feel them bite against his flesh. His hand slipped a little, a nervous tremor and the blade actually cut into his skin, just a little, and a dribble of red dripped down his torso.

"Dean, put the scissors down," Dad ordered, his voice low and steady, not a hint of panic in it, though Dad's eyes flashed with something like fear. Because Dad had him so well trained to obey without thinking, or perhaps just because part of his mind grabbed at any reason, no matter how small, not to hurt himself, Dean's right hand opened. The scissors clattered into the sink. 

"What are you doing, Dean?" Dad asked. "What were you thinking?"

"You lied to me," Dean accused. "You're turning me into some kind of cow. You gave me tits and they won't stop leaking milk."

Dad stepped closer, then pulled Dean into his arms, a big bear hug. "No, honey," he said. "Not at all. That's not what's happening. Do you really hate them that much that you'd try and cut off your own breasts with a pair of scissors?"

Dean tried to answer yes, but when he thought about it rationally, he couldn't. No, the scissors thing hadn't been him thinking at all, just reacting. He hated them, yes, but you'd have to be crazy to attempt impromptu breast reduction surgery with scissors, wouldn't you? He just wanted them gone, but he could too easily imagine the bloody scene he'd have created in here. He'd seen probably more gore and guts than a kid his age should have. His dad hadn't taken him out on a hunt yet, but sometimes, the monsters came looking for them. He didn't have an answer for his Dad, nothing he could articulate, except that looking at them made him feel a deep and pervading sense of wrongness in a way thing nothing else in his life so far ever had. Not even the first time his Dad had come to his bed, all those years ago, had felt so wrong. Guts churning and just feeling utterly wrecked, Dean found himself struggling against tears. He had to breathe deeply to stop himself from sobbing. He couldn't remember the last time he cried, much less in his father's arms. It had probably been just after his mother had died. He didn't remember much clearly from that time, but he remembered always knowing that he had to be stronger than tears, that boys didn't cry, but that even more than other boys, he couldn't cry, because Dad and Sam needed him to hold it together.

"It's okay, honey," Dad said, holding him even tighter. "You can let go. I've got you. It's okay to cry, Dean."

Something in what Dad said worked, but it was like lifting a flood gate and Dean was suddenly weeping out every bit of horror and frustration, in big, ugly sobs, scrubbing his face against his father's chest.

 

***

 

Finding Dean in the bathroom with the medical utility scissors pressed up against his new breast bud, as if he were prepared to cut it off, John thought for a moment that he might have, this time, pressed Dean too far, but then Dean's hand hesitated for a moment and shook, and John knew that Dean would never make that cut, that his boy was hurting and upset, but he'd be okay. John could turn this around, and easily. 

He was right, just like that, with a few words, Dean had dropped the scissors and was weeping in John's arms. For a moment, John was ashamed of himself at how much he liked having his tough little boy so open and vulnerable like this. Dean could be so hard, so utterly in control of himself at times. To see him undone in this particular way woke something in John both protective and possessive, well, even more possessive than John was normally. He bent his head down to Dean's face and kissed tears away. 

"Oh, honey," John said. "I'm so sorry I made you cry."

He wasn't sorry. Not in the slightest. He loved seeing Dean's wet cheeks and the way he could hardly control the way his limbs shook with the sobs. John held Dean tightly, even as he winced at the strain of his jeans against his cock. It was incredible that he'd be able to get hard again so soon, after he'd come four times already today, but there it was. It wasn't right, that Dean was taking comfort from him, when he was the source of Dean's distress. He let Dean cry a long, long time, just savoring Dean's weakness, his suffering. He knew that made him a bad, terrible person, but he didn't care. He'd gone right over the brink with his boy years ago anyway. 

When Dean's thin shoulders stopped shaking and the sobs tapered off into snuffles, John started cleaning the minor cut Dean had made on his skin with the scissors. As he worked, he said, "I love you so much, Sam loves you so much too. Right, Sam?"

Thankfully, Sam was right at their elbow and for once, not pouting about something or another, but looking to John with wide open eyes, wondering what to do. He'd never seen Dean crying like this, because Dean never had in Sam's memory. Sometime during the winter Mary died, Dean had stopped crying, become this stoic, little man, tough as nails, all boy and not a jot of the feminine about him, as if Mary had taken it all away when she'd died. They had a chance, John thought, to get rid of the stoic man and get back the sweet, tender boy that Dean had once been. It wasn't that Dean hadn't been a nurturer, to him and Sam both, but you never once forgot that he was all boy while he did it. But there was chink, one crack to Dean's masculine armor- Sam. Dean would do anything, anything at all, for Sam's sake. Walk through fire. Sell his soul. 

John gave Sam a look and a nod and Sam took that as his cue to wriggle into Dean's arms, look him in the eyes with sad, wanting eyes. Puppy-dog eyes, John had heard them called. Whatever they were, Sam had mastered them and Dean had never been able to resist them. John had seen Dean give Sam the last bowl of Lucky Charms, or Dean's half of the candy bar, time after time just on the basis of a look from those eyes. 

"You won't get rid of your milk, will you, Dean?" Sam asked. "It's so yummy. It just made me feel so good inside. I won't ask if it makes you cry, but I want more so bad."

"I won't touch you, if you don't want," John said, lying through his teeth. He had no intention of keeping his mouth off Dean's new little tits. "But I think your brother needs this from you. You know, he never got weaned when your mother died. She was just gone."

Dean sighed, heavily. He ruffled Sam's hair. "Okay, Sam can have my milk," he said. Then he added, "But you'd better never forget what I'm doing for you, bitch. And you bite me again, I'm punching you in the teeth."

John knew that while Dean had gotten over some crucial resistance, that he'd better not push things, for the moment. Sam would be welcome at Dean's breast, but John himself would not. Not yet anyway. If he avoided making Dean feel uncomfortable for a while, then he could work his way back to getting his mouth on Dean's tit and be able to suck there for years possibly. 

"Okay, I'm going to go out and get us some dinner," John said. "What do you want, Dean? Anything you want, sweetheart."

"Pie?" he asked. 

"For dessert, sure," John said. "Burgers?"

"Sam was saying earlier he wanted one of those roasted chickens from the grocery store," Dean said. 

Sammy would be getting first crack at the tastiest thing on offer at the moment, John thought, uncharitably, but he said, gently, "It's your turn to pick tonight, honey. Tell me what you want."

"Burgers," Dean said. "'n fries 'n' a strawberry milkshake."

"Okay, you got it, baby," John said. Then to Sam, he added, "Be gentle to your brother. No teeth."

Before John went to the diner to get dinner, he stopped at the drug store for a few essentials. He grabbed a couple of boxes of condoms, and because he thought it had been about month since the last time Dean had bled, he stopped by the period products aisle and tried to remember which brand Dean liked and if he preferred tampons or not. He grabbed a couple of things, and turned around to find the baby aisle. There, amid the baby butt creams and diapers he found the salve Dean was liable to need, especially given how much his little nipples had been sucked on already. They'd been bright red and irritated looking when John had left. Finally, he headed to the back of the store. At the counter, he asked for the morning after pill he'd need to give Dean. The pharmacy tech gave him a doubtful look and didn't immediately offer it. John wasn't anyone's idea of what a male carrier looked like. 

"Not for me," John said. "For my partner. Condom broke."

"Male carrier or female?" the pharmacy tech asked.

"Carrier," John said. 

When the pharmacy tech came back up to the counter with the small box, she began ringing up John's purchases. When she came across the tampons, she smiled kind of strangely and said, "Boy, he really does have you whipped, doesn't he?"

"I'm supposed to be embarrassed to take care of the ordinary, physical needs of the man I love?" John asked, flatly and the tech didn't say anything more, though her cheeks blushed pink as she bagged up the things John had bought. He paid with a credit card belonging to Hugh Jass. He'd made the mistake of letting Dean fill out that application, but the credit card company had sent along a platinum card with a credit limit of ten thousand, so John wasn't complaining. 

As John walked out of the store, he passed through the cosmetics department. He wasn't hopeful that he'd get Dean to try make up again any time soon, not after the melt down from earlier, but John stopped for a moment in front of a perfume display. One particular fragrance caught his eye: Shalimar. Janet Freeman, his first girl friend back in high school, used to steal her mother's bottle and spritz it on herself after school, before she'd get into John's car and they would go make out. It was heady stuff, redolent of vanilla, citrus and wood. It always made John think of those back seat make out sessions where he got harder than a board and his balls would be aching. But Janet hadn't been the only Freeman sibling to steal their mother's perfume. Danny, Janet's one year younger carrier brother, liked it too. He'd been such a hot little slut. John would drop Janet off and then he and Danny would go for a ride and Danny would give him head, taking care of the blue balls his sister had given John. A couple of times, he'd even let John fuck his tight pussy. John found himself reaching for the bottle of perfume, big smile on his face, half from memory, half from the anticipation of smelling this on Dean.

 

***

 

Sam lifted his head from Dean's chest. He'd been sucking on one tit or the other steadily for half an hour and he had to have been dry sucking for a good five, ten minutes. At least the dribble from the non-suckled side had stopped a while back.

"Enough already, bitch," Dean said, irritably. It didn't hurt, not like when Sam had been biting down, but he felt overstimulated. Just touched too much. Dad had fucked his ass twice, played with his nipples for hours and gone back for seconds on Dean's pussy. Then there'd been that embarrassing scene in the bathroom where he'd cried like a little girl in his Daddy's arms. Right in front of Sam too. Then Sam and his demanding mouth had been busy for too long. He couldn't explain the rush of love he felt for Sam when the boy's mouth was on him, but it was undeniable. It felt good, too freaking good. All in all, it'd just worn him out. He felt sort of like he felt when he was what Dad called all fucked out. Exhausted, but like his skin was singing with electric static. 

Dean rolled away from Sam's questing hands and burritoed himself up into the bedspread, even though it was way too hot in the room, even with the air conditioning. He needed a little while at least where he couldn't be touched, "I'm going to sleep for a while. Wake me up when Dad's back. Not a minute before."

Of course, he couldn't sleep, but there was still something comforting about the thick layers of fabric between himself and the world. No hands could be laid on him this way. He just laid there for a while. Sam had picked up his novel and was flipping through the pages, obviously trying to figure out where he'd been. 

When he noticed that Dean wasn't asleep, Sam looked up, marking his page with a finger. "Dean, do you think that stuff Dad dosed you with is safe?"

"I think so," Dean said. He said he'd gotten it from Skinny Pete, who Dean had never met, but Dad had described the big man often enough. He knew that Dad made money by selling stuff to the man. Dad would go meet this old Marine buddy of his, then the Impala's trunk would be loaded with boxes that they absolutely weren't supposed to go looking in. Then they'd head off to the southwest, stay for a while at some motel in this general vicinity and the boxes would disappear and they'd have easy money for a while, Dad happily paying for things with cash off big rolls he'd take out of his pocket. He knew that Dad also said he got antibiotics and pain killers, that sort of thing, from Skinny Pete. More than that, Dad wouldn't purposefully poison Dean. Dad loved him, probably too much and definitely in all the wrong ways, but there was no doubt that his love was genuine. 

"Why did you let him just stick you with a needle like that?" 

Dean couldn't really say, didn't understand himself, and that made him feel uneasy. "I don't see you complaining about the result any," he snapped. 

"You taste so good, Dean. It's like regular milk, but sweeter," Sam said. He grinned and his dimples popped up. "It's better than candy. Better than Lucky Charms."

"I taste better than candy?" Dean asked, surprised. The milk hadn't looked like much to him. It looked kind of thin and blue, like skim milk. He'd assumed it couldn't taste that good, but Sam had sucked him down too long for something that just tasted like skim milk. Dad had been pretty enthused about sucking Dean's milk down too, Dean thought about how he'd been pretty much attacked in the shower. The difference between Sam and Dad was that sucking on Dean hadn't given Sam any boners. He just liked the milk. Dad, on the other hand, was definitely getting some kind of perverted kick out of it. Dean could still feel his pussy complain about how hard it'd been used. Dean thought about Dad's desperate, almost uncontrolled urges. That much he did like. That was the thing he liked best about being Dad's... whatever it was that he was to Dad. He loved it when Dad was driven wild with desire for him. Just thinking about the way Dad had him in the shower, up against the wall, too overcome to even think about condoms, got Dean hard.

He didn't have too much longer to think about that though, because Dad had returned, coming in the door to the room with bags from the diner and from the drug store. He set the paper bags from the diner on the dinette.

"Get dressed for dinner, Dean," Dad said, taking in Dean's blanket wrapped body. 

Still holding the blanket around himself, he dug in his bag for a shirt that belonged to him. It was getting harder and harder to find clothes that felt right for him to wear, as Dad kept replacing the plain, dull flannels that Dean preferred with brighter colors like carriers tended to wear. He could grab Dad's shirts, but that was a little too intimate at the moment. They smelled like Dad. He wanted his own damn shirt. In army green or something. Not pink, not purple. Olive drab. He finally found one at the bottom that smelled clean and was a decent, not too bright blue, but didn't realize until after he'd gotten it over his head that it was one of Sam's. It was big on Sam, but it was skin tight on Dean, clinging to his new curves. It showed his tits off perfectly, basically, down to the way his nipples were sticking out like little pencil erasers.

Before he could rip it off, Dad said, "Wear that, Dean. I like that on you."

Then he handed things from the drugstore bags individually to Dean. 

"Morning after pill," he said, handing a small box to Dean. "Make sure you read and follow the directions on the box or it won't work right. And you use tampons, right?"

Dean's face burned bright red at that, as his Dad handed him a bigger box. "Did you have to? In front of Sam?"

"It's not like I don't know you get a period, Dean," Sam said. "You complain about it enough."

"You'd complain too if you got cramps like I do," Dean said, then he grabbed the box. Just like women, carriers bled every month. At least Dad had gotten the gender-neutral branded box this time. Many months in the past, Dad had obliviously presented him with a bright pink box. Or maybe had done it deliberately. Not that the contents of the box were any different, but it was freaking embarrassing to be found going into the bathroom with little pink wrapped packages. The last pink box had happened to coincide with the week after Michael had outed Dean to the whole of North Haverbrook High and Dean hadn't been able to replace it because they'd been out of money. Some older boys had cornered Dean in the restroom and turned out his pockets and found a pink wrapped tampon. Dean had been forced to stand up for himself. The three boys suffered two black eyes, a broken nose and dislocated finger between them and learned the clear and unforgettable lesson that you did not mess with Dean Winchester on the first day of his period. Dean had been suspended, but he hadn't cared at that point. They'd left the next week anyway.

"I got you a little present too," Dad said. "Close your eyes and hold out your wrist."

Dean did what Dad told him and a second later, there was the spritz sound of something being sprayed. A cloud of fragrance suddenly surrounded Dean, something really good smelling. It was vanilla, but also kind of like oranges, but also deep and smoky too. Dean had never smelled anything so pretty before and he sniffed in deeply, loving it. Then he realized what had happened. He just hoped, well, there was still a chance that he'd been sprayed with guy's cologne. He didn't think so. He opened his eyes and Dad was still holding the spray bottle. It was all curvy and fancy and it was so very, very obvious that it could never be any kind of guy's cologne. 

"Son of a bitch! Your gift is freaking perfume?" Dean shouted, more angry that he'd loved the stuff than at his father. "Perfume!"

"And it smells lovely on you, sweet boy," John said. He grabbed Dean's wrist and sniffed deeply. He made a little sound, almost like a moan. He laid a soft kiss to the inside of Dean's arm and it made Dean shiver and feel like his spine was running out of his body, turned to liquid instantly. 

"Just tell me it isn't the kind Mom wore," Dean said, unable to protest much more than that. "Because that would be too weird."

"No, your mother never bothered with perfume much," Dad said. "Soap and water kind of woman. My first boyfriend liked this perfume. Danny was his name. You remind me of him. He was a carrier, but very much a boy's kind of boy. Except he loved this perfume."

Okay, it was more than a little creepy to remind your dad of his first boyfriend, but Dean would settle for that, because it was way, way better than him reminding Dad of Mom. If Dad ever brought it up that Dean was like Mom and that's why they were fucking, Dean was going to be pulling the whole plug on this thing between them somehow. He'd run away, taking Sam with him, if he had to. 

"You'll wear it, sometimes, for me?" Dad asked. 

Dean thought about how John had reacted, the way it obviously drove him crazy and though Dean wanted to say no, he just couldn't. Maybe it would be okay if he only wore it for when they had sex and he showered it off afterwards? People didn't really pay that much attention to how you smelled unless you smelled bad or really weird. And it was kind of the nicest thing he'd smelled in a long, long time. 

"Okay, sometimes, but only when I want to," Dean conceded. "Can we eat now? I'm starving."

Dad didn't even forget the pie. Dad always forgot the pie. 

***

After their dinner was finished and cleaned up, John didn't push anything with Dean. He recognized that Dean, though he seemed more relaxed and happier after food, was on edge. Even so, when they watched TV together, the three of them, John pulled Dean onto his lap. The best thing they could find on the limited stations that the motel got were old reruns of Knight Rider. John did his very best not to let himself entertain himself with fondling Dean's new breasts, as tempting as they were. 

"Our car is way cooler," Dean observed once. "Even if it doesn't talk."

"You're not wrong on that," John said, rolling his eyes at the cheesy action show.

Eventually after a couple of hours of television, Dean started wincing and squirming in John's arms. "What's wrong, buddy?" John asked. 

"My...tits hurt," Dean said, and he crossed his arms in front of his chest, hunching inwards. 

"Let's take a look at them," John said, and without waiting for Dean's permission, he pulled the tight t-shirt Dean was still wearing over his head, but didn't pull it off all the way, just left it on his shoulders. Somehow, a partially dressed Dean was always more appealing that a completely naked Dean. Dean's breasts were bigger than they were before, swollen, high and proud. John touched one, cautiously. The skin felt taut, the tissue hard. "You're engorged with milk. You need to let Sam nurse some more."

"I'm still full from dinner," Sam said. "I can't."

"It's not as easy to do as nursing, but I did buy a breast pump at the store," John said. He'd figured that there would be times when neither he nor Sam would be available to take care of Dean in that way, so best to be prepared. 

"Okay," Dean said, cautiously. "Will it hurt?"

"It shouldn't," John said. "But maybe it might a little because you're so engorged right now."

The manual pump that John had found in the baby section of the drug store proved to be a disaster. Just one pull with the trigger had Dean cringing at the suction and nothing came out of his hard little breast. It was several minutes before Dean would admit defeat, but it had a consequence that, as wonderful as it was, John hadn't anticipated. Dean begged him to suck on his breasts to empty them. 

"You're sure?" John asked. 

"Please, Dad. It hurts," Dean said. "Just don't make it a kinky thing. It's just weird."

Sam sighed hugely. "Are you guys going to be fucking again? You did it all afternoon."

"Maybe Sam," John said. 

"I'll try and keep quiet," Dean promised. John was going to do his best to make Dean break that promise. 

With that, John swept Dean up into his arms and carried him across the room to the bed. Years ago, when John had taken Dean as lover, it'd been easy to carry him, but he still loved to do this, even now when his boy was really too big for this, John insisted on carrying him sometimes, loving the way that Dean seemed so helpless when in his arms. He laid Dean out on the bed, shed his clothes and climbed in after him. 

John looked at how red and irritated Dean's nipples were and realized that he'd be hurting Dean if he locked his mouth around them now. John grabbed the drug store bag and found the lanolin based salve. "This will make your nipples feel better," John said. He opened the tube and squeezed out a bead of the salve onto his finger. He touched it to Dean's nipple and the boy shivered. John rubbed the salve into the nipple and the tissue around it, sort of gently squeezing as he went, hand expressing Dean's milk. 

The milk poured out in big sprays that hit John in the face and chest. John squeezed out a little more salve for the other nipple and he massaged both of Dean's breasts, milking his boy expertly, until John's face and chest were drenched with the white fluid and it was dripping down onto the bed, onto John's legs, onto his rock hard cock. Dean moaned and cried out. It seemed like those cries were both pain and ecstasy. Dean's eyes were shut and he was breathing hard. When Dean's little breasts were softer, less engorged, John laid down next to him, dared to put his lips onto one and suckled softly, which caused Dean to slowly rut against John. The milk was so sweet, and because John had already drained off most of the foremilk, what he was getting was the rich, fattier hind milk. 

John looked up at the sound of Sam clearing his throat. Sam was standing by the edge of the bed, looking enviously at John. 

"Change your mind, buddy? You want some of Dean's milk?" John asked. 

"You were wasting it," Sam said, voice sharp with accusation, as he climbed into bed with them. He nestled himself into Dean's other side and petted Dean's breast a little while before latching on. Dean sighed, perhaps he sounded a little happy even as he twisted around to accommodate his brother a little better. 

John wouldn't have said he was wasting it when he was squirting it on himself. In fact, it was almost alarming how ample Dean's supply was considering that they'd just started him on the medication. John couldn't exactly explain why it turned him on so much to get sprayed with Dean's milk, but his arousal was undeniable. Dean hadn't exactly minded either. As John nursed, he started stroking Dean's flank, then moving toward's Dean's cock. He worked a light hand on Dean's body for a long time, just touching lightly, deliberately teasing. He rolled Dean's balls in his hand, reached behind them and lifted them out of the way to ease his fingers into Dean's soaking pussy. Dean whined and whimpered, obviously trying to get a more direct touch, trying to come. 

John waited for Sam to drop off into sleep. Sam's eyes closed first and his face grew peaceful, even blissful. Then his lips stopped moving and his whole body grew still. Then Sam shifted a little, first, then rolled over to sleep on his other side, back now to Dean. 

"Shhh," John said. "Don't wake Sam up. You know how cranky he can be if he's woken up right after he drifts off."

So John lifted Dean off the bed and carried him over to the other queen sized bed. Dean sprawled himself out on the bed, spreading his legs open, obviously ready for John, who had a wonderful thought.

"You took your pill during dinner, right?" he asked.

"Just like you said. Box says I need to take the second pill twelve hours from then, the third pill twelve hours after that," Dean said. 

"Then it shouldn't matter if I come inside your pussy," John said. He wondered for a moment if Dean was old enough to start taking the pill, if he could find a doctor willing to prescribe it, maybe if John gave a sob story about how he'd found Dean in a compromising position with his much older boyfriend and there didn't seem to be anything John could do to keep them apart. Not that far from the truth, really. John just knew that it felt so good not wear the damn condoms. 

"Guess not," Dean said. 

***

John was thrusting hard, nearly ready to come in minutes, but then they'd been fooling around for a good half hour while the three of them had been nursing. Dean canted his hips a little to get a better angle of stimulation. His prostate was most easily stimulated by the back door, but if he held his hips at a certain angle while John was pounding in and out, that was almost as good and soon, Dean found himself crying out, his whole world suddenly nothing but the feelings his father's cock made inside him. He couldn't help but grab tighter with arms and legs as the whiteness seemed to take over. His cock painted both their bellies with come at the same time that John's sprayed what felt like gallons of come inside of Dean's cunt. 

"You are one sexy little bitch," John said, collapsing on top of Dean. He laughed a little then added, "A sweet, milky whore and you're all mine."

John rolled partially off of Dean and his mouth automatically sought Dean's nipple again and he began suckling and kept it up until Dean was asleep and maybe for a while afterwards.

It was funny how fast things slipped into a kind of routine. They'd stayed at the same motel for three weeks, unusual for the summer, which normally found them moving from state to state, sometimes multiple times in the same week. But they stayed in New Mexico. Dad kept calling this guy and talking to him and Dean could hear that he was trying to arrange some kind of deal, which meant Dad wanted to stay within the vicinity of Skinny Pete for now. 

Dad was gone for most of the day, every day, and that was when Sam did most of his nursing, four, five times a day, most days, sometimes more. He still didn't seem to be getting anything sexual out of it, but he'd taken to twiddling with the other nipple as he worked the one in his mouth. Dean on the other hand, would have to run off to the bathroom to spend some alone time every time Sam was done with him. 

At first, Sam was a little pissed that they couldn't go to the pool any more, but he seemed to settle down once Dean explained, "You want to give up sucking on my tits? Because that's what would have to happen for me to go out in a swim suit again. My tits would have to shrink back down to nothing for me to go out without a top.”

"I'm sorry," Sam said. "I didn't think. It must be kind of weird for you, having boobies."

"You got no idea, Sammy, no idea," Dean said. "You gonna suck on them or what? They're getting full again."

So Sam curled up next to him and nursed, while they watched yet another crappy telenovela, because it was the only thing they could tune in clearly. Not that Dean understood what was going on, seeing as it was all in Spanish. But it was nice, sitting in the big recliner with Sam sucking on him, playing with his other breast. Because that's what they clearly were now. Not huge ones, but definitely bigger than the little buds they'd been the first night John had injected him. The nipples had gotten bigger too, though that was probably just a function of them being sucked on so regularly. 

"Kinda wish I knew what they were saying," Dean said, as two of the characters were having some obviously dramatic confrontation. One was a woman, one was a pregnant carrier male. Maybe the carrier had been made pregnant by the the woman's husband? 

"I bet Lettie would translate for us," Sam said, popping his mouth off Dean's nipple. "She speaks Spanish. I heard her talking with her dad."

Dean cuffed Sam's head lightly. "Shut up. We aren't hanging out with Lettie any more. She's gonna think I'm a freak."

"Why? A lot of carrier boys have boobies like you. My friend Davey from when we were in Malden already hadta wear a training bra." 

Dean sort of remembered little Davey. It didn't exactly disprove Dean's point. Davey had been really girly looking, wore his hair down to his shoulders even and he had still played with dolls. Dolls! And he couldn't stop talking about how much he couldn't wait to be a mommy. 

"Are you sure your friend Davey wasn't really a girl?" Dean asked. 

"His cock was bigger than mine," Sam said. Then when Dean gave him a funny look, wondering when he would have seen Davey's penis, Sam added, "He could write things with it. In the snow. Whole words."

"Huh," Dean said. Maybe Davey wasn't a girl, because that certainly wasn't a girl thing to do. "Are you sure you're not a girl?"

"Please, Dean, can we just go visit Lettie? We don't have to go swimming. I'm just so bored. I haven't seen anyone but you and Dad in weeks. She won't be mean about your boobies. She's too nice."

Then Sam gave him a look. That look. You'd think it would stop working on Dean eventually, that Sam would grow up enough that it wouldn't work. It never had. Add in the fact that Dean was just about out of his mind with boredom too, seeing only Dad and Sam in any given day.

"Okay, but finishing sucking the milk out of my tits. You haven't done enough and I don't wanna pump."

The little hand held one from the drug store hadn't worked on Dean, but a few days later, John had brought home from who knows where, a tangle of tubes and round plastic parts and some big machine part. John had called it a hospital grade pump and it had worked on Dean's little tits. It didn't hurt, per se, but he didn't get turned on by it, like when John and Sam suckled on him, didn't feel that rush of love. It felt like exactly what it was, getting sucked on by a machine, but it did fascinate him, watching the collection jars fill up with the white fluid from his tits, though it could be maddening to watch Sam guzzle down the product of fifteen hard minutes of pumping in one big gulp. 

"Okay," Sam said, and he got back to the work of emptying Dean's breasts. 

Later, Dean jerked off in the shower and attempted to scrub off the perfume John had sprayed him with last night and the scent of milk. He scrubbed himself dry, then looked at himself in the mirror. He could sort of look at himself now, not like that horrible night when he first got the tits. 

Sam let himself in the steamy room, probably intending to use the crapper, but when he noticed Dean staring at himself in the mirror, he sighed and said, "They're not getting any bigger, Dean, not since last week anyway."

Then he reached over, grabbed one of Dean's tits and squeezed. Despite the fact that he'd just been nursing on them half an hour ago, milk sprayed out. Sam had gotten good at aiming and the spray hit Sam dead on in the mouth. 

"Bitch!" Dean protested. "You do that where Lettie can see and I will end you."

"You love feeding me, Dean," Sam smirked. "You know you do."

Well, he couldn't refute that and it was time for the challenge of getting dressed. More and more of Dean's boy clothes had been disappearing. Replacing them had been clothes that even the most feminine of carrier boys would have found too much. A dress had appeared once and John seemed to get the clue that he was pushing it too far when Dean had grabbed those same utility scissors from the medical kit and used them to cut the pink silky cloth up into little shreds which he'd dumped on John's side of the bed. 

Still, the dark plaid shirts and army green t-shirts had been replaced completely, nowhere to be found. The least objectionable shirt Dean could find was bright, solid purple. At least it had seemed unobjectionable until Dean put it on and realized that there were these cut outs that let his shoulders show through and that the waist was much tighter than the bust, so that it exaggerated the fact that he had tits rather than hiding it. Definitely another one for the scissors, Dean thought, as it set it aside. He thought about putting on one of John's oversized denim shirts, but if John caught him wearing them, he was given a talking to that ended up with him completely naked until John left again. Finally, Dean settled on a pink shirt. It was cut like a boy's shirt and was big enough on him that it kind of hid the tits. Even though it had flowers printed on it, they were tiny, small enough that you couldn't see what they were until you looked close up. Dean put it on with a pair of jeans and his best bad ass attitude. 

"Maybe you should get some kind of bra, Dean. I can see your nipples," Sam said as they were about to walk out the door of the motel room. 

Dean looked down and he could kind of see Sam's point. They were definitely poking out of the thin cotton cloth. Dean almost just locked them back into the room. He was not going to be wearing any damn bra. Outside of the room, it must have been a hundred degrees with the sun beating down like a hammer. Dean couldn't bear the thought of a whole other layer, like an undershirt. He'd just have to tough it out, because Sam was right. He was bored. He'd been inside this motel room for three weeks and he hadn't seen a single other person other than Dad and Sam in that time. 

They found Lettie in the pool area. She was sun bathing, lying on her stomach on one of the chaises, wearing that polka dot bikini of hers. She'd untied the back of the bikini top so that she wouldn't have a tan line on her back and she'd piled her thick dark hair on top of her head in a messy bun kind of thing, but a few tendrils of it had escaped and curled down her back in a way that was just entrancing to Dean, how they ran along the shapes of her shoulder blades. She shifted a bit on the chaise and her ass kind of rippled as she moved, kind of jiggled. Dean could feel himself chubbing up a little and for a moment, it was almost like the last three weeks in their motel room had never happened. He was just a normal teenage guy seeing a pretty girl.

Then Lettie realized they were there and she rolled over, some how managing to tie up her swimsuit as she did so. "It's so stupid I got to wear this top," she said. "I got nothing up here. Less than a boy."

She looked at them briefly, narrowed her eyes, as if she was going to get mad at them, probably because they'd ignored her for three weeks, then she looked closer at Dean's top half, even squinted a little, as if the sun were in her eyes. "You got titties," she said, then laughed, just a little, but it didn't seem mean somehow. 

"Oh, Dean, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have laughed," she said. "You know, I was praying so hard for some chichis, any little thing up top. I guess God must have heard but delivered to the wrong room of the motel."

It occurred to Dean for the first time that even if she joked about it, maybe Lettie felt just as awful about her lack of breasts as Dean felt about his sudden, newly sprouted breasts.

"You really pray for breasts?" Sam asked, in the tactless way that young kids sometimes had.

"My Abuela drags me to church every Sunday. I might as well pray for something," she said, half smiling. Then she took in their jeans and shirts. "Your Dad was serious about not letting you swim any more."

"He's a jerk," Sam said. 

Dean punched Sam in the arm and said, "Don't talk that way about Dad."

"Well, he is," Sam whined. "He won't let us swim. And he makes us stay in this crappy place. Oh, I'm sorry, Lettie."

"It's okay, Sam," she said. "I'm not blind or stupid. I tell my dad all the time we'd get more guests if we got cable or good air conditioning. Oh, it's too much money, Lettie, he says. He doesn't understand you got to spend money to make money. At least we have a pool. Hey, Sam, why don't you go get your suit. Your Dad won't be back for hours yet, right?"

"Probably not," Dean said, except you never knew with Dad. He could be back in the middle of the night or he could come back in the middle of the morning. Only Sam had already grabbed the keys out of Dean's hands and was running off back to the room. 

"Don't worry. You keep an eye out for your brother and I'll keep an eye out for your Dad," Lettie said, and she smiled. Her teeth were blinding white against the deep berry of her lipstick. "We got a minute before Sam gets back. Kiss me." 

It was so strange, kissing someone who didn't have stubble, who was smaller and weaker than him, not bigger and stronger. It was glorious and it would have gotten even better if Sam hadn't decided he was going to break world record swim suit changing time. He burst into the pool enclosure and even though Dean and Lettie leaped apart, he could tell. 

"Oh, you're going to be in so much trouble, Dean. Kissing girls," Sam scolded. "You know what Dad thinks about that."

"And how is he going to know unless you tell him?" Dean demanded. "You're not going to tell him."

"Or what?"

"I think you know," Dean said, darkly, looking down at his breasts. 

"You wouldn't," Sam said. 

"I so would and you know it. Go play in the pool, Sam."

Sam made that sour face of his, but he climbed into the pool and began splashing around. Lettie threw her arms around his neck and kissed him again, this time, they weren't interrupted by Sam, but after a few minutes, Dean felt guilty to the pit of his stomach. Was it cheating when the one you were cheating on shouldn't be sleeping with you in the first place? Dean pushed her away. "You know, I can't really be your boyfriend."

"Because you're a carrier? That's stupid, Dean," she said. "Carrier boys can be with girls. My uncle Carlos, he married my aunt Lupe and he's the one that had their two babies."

"No, because my Dad might move us any day. We could be in Wisconsin by Thursday. That's just our life."

It wasn't like he could tell her the real reason- that Dad was his boyfriend, or lover or whatever, already.

"Your Dad paid up for the week this morning. I took his money myself," Lettie said. "How about you promise to be my boyfriend for the week?"

Dean didn't have the heart to tell her that John would have no compunction about skipping town if it suited his purposes, even if he had a week prepaid at a hotel, so he just smiled at her and said, "Okay."

Then she kissed him again, and touching her was like touching soft blankets and her lips glided against his like they were silk. Dean forgot, for a little while at least, that he belonged to John and had for years. The only thing Lettie wanted to do was kiss. Mostly. Just once, she touched his breasts, lightly. "Just out of curiosity," she said, then she laughed a little at the feel of them and withdrew her hands.

After that, Dean let his right hand drift down to her posterior and squeezed it lightly. It didn't feel like Dean expected. Instead of just squishy and soft, he could feel firm muscles underneath a layer of squish. It was so different from John, who was just hard muscle all over. 

"Just out of curiosity," he said and she snickered. 

Then they started kissing each other again. She pushed him towards one of the chaise lounges that was in the shade of the building, but close enough to the pool that it'd be no time at all to get in if Sam needed him. They necked all afternoon, until their lips were all swollen with kisses and her dark berry lipstick was long gone, smeared off god knows where, until he was kind of dizzy from lack of oxygen. He was aware that his attention wasn't on Sam nearly as much as it should be, but he kept an eye half open and just about every five minutes Sam poked his head up and gave them both the hairy eyeball until Dean would flip him off. It was tempting to try and push Lettie into more. He even poked his hard on against her hips again and again, maybe even got his hand under the pants to her bikini. Not, you know, into the really good parts, but under the thin little strap where they were tied on her hip.

"Whoa!" she said, sitting up. "Imma good girl. I'm keeping it as a gift for my husband. You know. Whenever he shows up."

"You're a virgin?" Dean asked. She'd seemed so confident and in charge, it was hard for him to imagine she wasn't experienced.

"Yeah, I am. Are you?" 

"I've never been with a girl before," Dean said, and that was the truth. He wasn't about to tell her that he'd lost his actual virginity while his age was still well into the single digits, that he was getting fucked on a regular basis and he liked it, liked it lots.

"But you been with guys?" 

Dean nodded. 

"So you know what it's like, right? Maybe you just want a few kisses, a good time. A little affection. And then there's this guy and all of a sudden he's poking his thing all up in your business and he won't take no for an answer."

When she put it like that, all Dean could think about was that was just how Dad could be. There were times Dean just wanted to sleep or whatever, and Dad just took what he wanted. Was she really feeling he was treating her like that? Jesus, Dad had gotten him mixed up about everything. Of course she didn't want his hands down her pants. Why would she? He was just a freak who was all messed up about sex. 

"I'm sorry, Lettie. I didn't mean it like that," he said, and he leaped off the chaise like it was on fire. He marched over to the pool side and called out to Sam. "Sammy! Sam! We're going back to the room."

"Dean! That's not what I meant!" Lettie called out to him. "We don't have to stop kissing."

"I gotta go take a cold shower or something," Dean said, shifting uncomfortably. The seam and zipper of his jeans was chafing against his junk. Dad had replaced most of his boy underwear with stuff that was pink and lacy, so Dean had taken to going commando lately. He wasn't even going to try those pink panties.

But Dean didn't take a cold shower when he got back to the room. He was completely limp by then for some reason. He had an impulse to burrito himself up in the bedspread again but the room really was too hot for that. The wall unit air conditioner was laboring asthmatically but mightily and it still failed to cool the room much below eighty, tolerable compared to the swelter outside, but definitely not allowing one to swaddle oneself in layers of blanket. Sam kept trying to talk to Dean, trying to ask him what had happened, causing Dean to just snap, "Nothing happened!'

Eventually, his boobs starting hurting in the way that Dean knew meant that he was full up again and if he didn't empty them soon, they'd start to really hurt. Without even offering Sam a chance to suck, Dean got out the breast pump, grabbed the clean tubes and collection jars from by the kitchenette sink. Sam didn't even bother asking if he nurse, though he did give Dean a sad look a couple of times as Dean got to work, setting up the tubes. Sam approached him silently as Dean struggled to get everything all untangled, as if he was going to offer to help and Dean couldn't help it as he snapped out, "Just don't even fucking touch me right now."

Sam beat a tactical retreat to the other bed while Dean took the chair by the TV. He let the machine clean him out as he watched more crappy Spanish language soap operas, wondering just what the relationship between the young, pregnant carrier and the older, gray haired handsome man was. Were they lovers? Father and son? Both? They didn't kiss on screen, but their relationship seemed unbelievably passionate. They argued in rapid fire Spanish, scene after scene and the camera showed them looking deeply into each other's eyes with a tension that couldn't be anything but sexual. 

There was a tentative knock on the door after a while. Lettie called softly through the door, "Dean? You okay?" 

Dean looked at the breast pump and all of the tubes and crap and just about froze in panic. If she wasn't convinced already, she'd definitely think he was a freak if she saw that. Luckily, Sam was a quicker thinker than Dean, and despite Dean's earlier meanness, he was always willing to help Dean out. Sam called out, "Dean's not decent," and jumped out of bed. He grabbed one of the blankets, unplugged the breast pump, with Dean's help, coiled up all the tubes and then kind of artfully arranged the blanket over the pump making it all look like just another pile of laundry. Then Dean hurried up and buttoned himself up, wincing as one of his breasts leaked, just a little, but enough to make a small wet patch on his shirt. Sam answered the door before Dean could protest though. 

"Hey," she said. She'd changed out of her polka dot bikini and into a pair of short cut off jeans, well worn and ragged on the bottom, and a t-shirt with a picture of Wonder Woman on it. 

"Hey," he answered, kind of cool and trying to stay detached. The telenovela players yammered at each other in the background.

"So, like, I'm sorry I kind of freaked you out earlier," she said. "I didn't mean it that way. I just wanted you to back it off a little. You know, keep your hands above the waist. I didn't want you to stop kissing me. I like you, Dean. A lot. It was fun."

"I'm sorry too," he said, thankful that she seemed, for some reason, to be giving him an out. That she didn't blame him for being a jerk or whatever it was he'd been. 

"Oh, you watch El Mundo Gira too?" she asked, catching sight of what was on the television.

"It's the best thing we can get that will actually tune in. No clue what's going on though. Like, what's with those two guys?"

"Oy! You will not believe their story. The old guy is Raymundo and the young guy is called Lupe. Anyway, Raymundo is Lupe's father, but last season, they were in this car accident together and they both ended up in this hospital a long way from home, with no ID or nothing. And they both had amnesia, so they didn't know they were father and son. The people who found them assumed they were married. So Raymundo and Lupe ended up thinking they were married to each other. They, you know, did it and everything. Lupe is pregnant with Raymundo's baby, but Lupe got cured of his amnesia and they know they're father and son. They still love each other and want each other, but their love is forbidden now."

"He's pregnant with his Dad's baby?" Dean asked, a little shocked that a story line like that would find its way onto television.

"I know, crazy, right? So right now, Lupe is saying that he wishes he was never cured of his amnesia, but Raymundo won't hear it, because Lupe was cured when they did this surgery to relieve pressure in his brain and he and the baby would have died without the surgery. Raymundo is saying he would rather have Lupe alive and well, even if it means that he can never touch Lupe again." 

So they ended up settling down together to watch the show as Lettie translated what was happening, explaining the feuding, back stabbing schemes of the Maldonaldo and Medrano clans. She couldn't hope to keep up with the rapid fire dialog, but she gave them the gist of what was happening and said. They were so engrossed in the show that Dean didn't even notice that Dad was entering the room until the door slammed open and crashed against the wall. Boy was he instantly pissed too.

"I go out to work, earn money to keep us afloat and you thank me by bringing a girl into the room? What the hell were you thinking, Dean? You know you're not supposed to have people in the room."

"Nothing was going on, Mr. Winchester," Lettie said. "I was just translating the telenovela for them. That's it. Sam was right here the whole time."

"Miss Zaccaro, perhaps your father isn't bothered by you keeping unsupervised company with young men, but I expect Dean to keep higher standards than that. If you could let me talk to Dean alone," John said. His voice was perfectly calm, controlled, but it was that Dean knew to fear. It was a voice that promised all hell would break loose once they were alone, outsiders gone and not around to witness. 

Lettie seemed like she was going to say something, but then she pressed her lips together. She darted out of the room with her eyes flashing with something unsaid and Dean was alone with John and Sam. When the door was closed and locked, John didn't yell as Dean was expecting. Instead, he lifted Dean up and carried him over to the bed. He threw Dean onto the bed and began pulling off Dean's clothes, tossing them aside, until Dean was naked. John unzipped his jeans and pulled them down a little, just enough to free his cock. Without foreplay, John shoved Dean's legs apart and crawled between them. He forced himself into Dean's cunt, no lube or anything. But it didn't matter because the instant Dean realized what was happening, his pussy turned on and started leaking like a freaking faucet. John didn't stop to put on a condom. With each brutal, fierce thrust into Dean's pussy the message was utterly and unmistakably clear- mine. Mine, all mine, John was saying. There was no doubt that John was staking his claim. 

John's eyes fixed on something on Dean's shoulder, near the crook of his neck. "Lipstick? That little bitch left lipstick on you?" John asked, then he fixed his teeth on that exact spot, sucking and biting down. He was going to leave a huge hickey. Intentionally. He was marking Dean. Making Dean his.

Kissing Lettie had been lovely, sweet, glorious. But this? This left Dean a mewling, needy incoherent mess. He couldn't even glue two words together and get them out of his mouth, but he heard himself begging please, and calling out, "Daddy!" His hands scrabbled at the small of John's back, trying to get a good grip, trying to pull him in deeper. And when John had slammed himself into Dean's pussy one last time and warmth flooded deep inside him, then John slumped bonelessly on him, Dean could have cried, because John had left him hanging. He'd gotten so close. Dean tried to move, tried to rub his achingly hard cock against John, anything to get a little friction, a little relief. It wasn't until John grabbed Dean's wrists, trapped them down on the mattress in an iron grip that Dean realized this was part of his punishment. 

"Bastard," Dean cried out. "Let me come."

"No," John said. 

Something about the utter firmness of John's voice caused Dean to just go completely still. There was just no hope he'd come any time soon, so he just laid there, breathing shallowly, the dead weight of his father draped over him. God, did Dean's ball's ache, hell, his whole body ached for the relief that wasn't coming, even as he kind of shivered in fear that it wasn't over yet. 

"I find you hanging out with that little hussy again I will throw you over my knee and whip your ass with my belt. Understood?" John said. "She is not to touch what is mine. Do you need a reminder of who you belong to?"

Dean didn't answer that. There was no good answer. Dean just laid there, not able to look John in the eye. He wasn't sorry. Not at all. Kissing girls was normal. It was something most guys did or at least wanted to do. But he was sorry, not because of the threat of punishment, but because Lettie was just a girl, one that he'd leave behind in a week or two, probably never think of again, but John would always be there, had been there so long. God, it was sick, twisted of him, but there was a part of Dean that was just singing with joy that his Dad had found him and reasserted his claim so fiercely and irrefutably. Because Dad's crazy attempts to make him into a girl aside, Dean loved John. More than that, he loved that his Dad loved him so intensely. He loved that he drove John so mad with desire. 

"I didn't think so. That's my good girl," John said after a while. Then he laid his head against Dean's chest and he suckled, drinking down Dean's milk in big, thirsty pulls. With John's mouth on his nipples, Dean couldn't help coming, his arousal never having really gone, but still it somehow seemed to sneak up on him. Suddenly he just seemed to have no control over his self. He was panting, it felt like convulsions were taking him and he couldn't stop the sounds he was making. His cock twitched and he was spraying come across his belly in white stripes.

"You're just like a bitch in heat," John said, with a chuckle, and it seemed like all was forgiven. "Go on. Get dressed. I'm taking you for dinner and some shopping. We've got to buy you some bras."

 

***

John guided Dean into the boy's clothing area of the department store. He wouldn't have sprung for the kind of money a store like this meant normally, but he had no idea what size bra Dean needed, nor how you even measured for such a thing. Dean was dragging his feet, not waiting to give in to having to wear a bra, but he was already a B cup easily, and if John had anything to say about it, he'd grow bigger yet. John still had a couple of those vials he'd got from Skinny Pete and when Dean had settled down a little, he'd be getting those injections. 

But for now, a bra, to hide Dean's nipples, maybe make him look a little smaller than he was, and for someplace to stuff nursing pads to soak up any milk that might leak out when they were out in public

A middle aged woman bustled up to them, looked them up and down, deciding that they weren't the sort of people who could afford to shop here. Of course, they could for the moment. John was flush with cash, having just done that RPG deal.

"Can I help you?" she asked, nose about as high in the air as it would go. 

"We need to get a couple of bras for my son here," John said, putting a hand on Dean's shoulder. "He's just sprouting up and out and all over the place, but I've got no idea what size to get. Thought I'd never have to deal with this, having boys."

"You'll have to go up to the lingerie department," the woman said, pointing in the general direction of the back of the store. 

Eventually, John found the correct department. It was a wonderland of lacy, pretty things. Sweet, candy-colored bras hung from the racks, next to displays of matching panties. In another part of the department there was a selection of slips, camisoles, all those mysterious, filmy garments, that in John Winchester's world only existed to be taken off and dropped on the floor next to the bed. In a moment, he was dressing Dean in his imagination. He'd be stunning in that red corset set over there, John thought. The one with garters.

Eventually, a short, dumpy middle aged woman came up to them. She was one of those women that had their hair and make up style frozen in time from about twenty-five years ago, who wore reading glasses on a cord around her neck, and little button style earrings. You saw her type all over. They were school secretaries and driver's license branch workers and intake nurses at emergency rooms. They were no nonsense and accomplished about ninety percent of the work of the world, it seemed. They almost never had the leadership role, but there was no doubt that wherever they were, they were in charge of the situation. She gave Sam fleeting glance and John a quick once over before turning her attention to Dean.

"I see that the young gentleman is in need of some support," the woman said, looking Dean up and down carefully. "We've got a good selection in plain colors, black, navy, that sort of thing. Just the thing for a carrier boy like you. Step over this way, we'll get started."

She brought them over to the dressing room area, then she stood in front of Dean, looking him up and down for a moment. Then she laid her hands on Dean's body, touching him here and there, including his breasts. Dean winced and drew back a from her touch.

"You must have grown fast for them to be so tender," she said.

"You don't know the half of it, lady," Dean said, snarkily. "You really gotta feel me up like that?"

She didn't seem offended at all, took it with good humor and a compassionate eye aimed at John. She must be very used to dealing with young men dealing with changing bodies. 

"It's strictly professional," she said, in explanation. "I find it more accurate than measuring with a tape. I've been fitting all kinds of people for bras for over thirty-year years. I've fit more bosoms than you've had hot dinners. Let me get some things for you to try on."

The woman grabbed several different styles of bras, all plain and boring. There was one in black, in heather gray, in beige. Exactly the sort of bra that John didn't want to buy for Dean, but he'd have to. He couldn't very well buy the lacy, fancy bras he wanted with Dean right there, but he didn't have any idea of what size to get Dean. So he'd buy one or two of these plain ones, then go to another store, without Dean, and buy the kind he wanted to get, the ones he wanted Dean to wear.

"He'll need a sports bra or two as well," John said, so the woman grabbed a couple of even more utilitarian looking models, with wide straps and lots and lots of hooks.

"Hey, Dad, look, they have a Batman bra," Dean said, poking at one of selection on the racks. It was a flimsy little thing, all in cotton and elastic, the sort of thing you'd wear just to hide your nipples, not if you needed support, but the fabric did indeed have little Batman logos printed all over it. Even John could see that a bra like that wouldn't do what Dean needed. Not that he would have bought it for Dean anyway.

"I'm sorry, dear," the saleswoman said. "That one doesn't come in your cup size, only in A and B cups."

"What size am I?" Dean asked. 

"Well, we're going to try a couple on you for size, but you feel like a thirty D to me. Maybe a twenty-eight."

"D cups? I have D cups!" Dean said. He glared at John and the message was as clear as anything, this was all John's fault.

"It's not really that big, dear. You'd be a B cup if you had a thirty-four band. It's just that you're so narrow through the ribcage right now. The rest of you will catch up soon and you won't feel nearly so big. It's important you get some good support, dear, to stop sagging. You're not going to get any smaller. That's all breast tissue I felt. Let's get you into the dressing room and show you how these fit."

She led Dean to the changing room and John followed, bringing Sam along with him. Sam had his nose in his book the whole time, pointedly so, as if he found it embarrassing enough just be in this department.

"You two wait here," she said, firmly and pointed to a set of upholstered armchairs by the dressing room entrance. "That last thing any young carrier boy wants is for his father and younger brother to watch him try on brassieres."

She and Dean were in the fitting room a long time and the woman came out occasionally and grabbed other bras off the rack, before she finally sent Dean out again. He was obviously wearing a bra underneath his shirt, because his tits were lifted, shaped so they were rounder somehow and he looked shapely under his clothes. He seemed bigger rather than smaller. If they weren't out in public, John would have been tempted to fondle those newly clothed breasts. 

"Looks good, Dean," John said. "Let's get that one."

"Twenty-eight double D," Dean said, and he practically spit it at John. "I can hardly breathe because of how tight the band is."

"It'll loosen up as you wear it, dear," the sales woman said. "You want something with firm support around the band. If it's loose in the band, there's no support."

Then the sales woman addressed herself to John. "That model comes in black, navy, gray, white and beige. I recommend you get him at least one beige, for wearing under white and other pale colored shirts, then at least one more. I've also got a sports bra that works for him."

So he ended up paying for three bras, a beige, a black one and the sports bra. Together they added up to nearly a hundred and fifty dollars. Luckily, John had plenty of cash from his latest deal, so he pulled a hundred off the roll he kept in his pocket and added the rest in twenties.

"So, this is a pretty standard size? I could just buy him others in the same size and they should work?"

"It should, but it's always better to have him try them on first. There are factors that vary from brand to brand, like cup shape. Plus a growing boy like your son should be professionally fitted probably no less than every six months."

Oh, he definitely would be a growing boy, John thought. 

***

John had dropped them off at the bookstore, with a little money so Sam could pick out a book. "You too, if you want, Dean, but watch out for Sammy," Dad had said. Dean didn't bother looking for himself. School would be back in session soon enough and there'd be all the reading Dean could stomach. For now though, his cheeks burned because he knew what his Dad was doing. He was going to another store and he was going to buy more bras now he knew Dean's size and not plain black ones either, but all those lace and satin ones Dean had seen Dad absently fingering in the lingerie department. 

Sure enough, when they got back to the motel that night, Dad tossed a bag at Dean from a well known purveyor of lingerie, one with a 'secret'. A few months ago, Dean had found one of their catalogs abandoned at the laundromat. He'd treasured it, had drooled over the scantily clad models on those pages, might have even jerked off a few times to it. 

He'd had no idea that some day, Dad would be handing him a bag of stuff that might well have been illustrated on those pages telling him to go put them on. The order had come in such a firm tone that Dean had taken the small plastic bag without comment and gone into the bathroom with it. He dug into the bag and taken out a bra in black lace, matching panties, thankfully the full butt kind, not a thong. Dad had tried to get him to wear a thong once and that thin piece of fabric in his ass crack had driven him to distraction, even for just a few minutes wear. Then there was a pair of thigh high stockings and what Dean recognized from the catalog as a garter belt. Jesus. Dad was a freaking horn dog, wasn't he?

Dean thought about protesting, saying, hell no, he wasn't going to wear this shit, but then he remembered earlier today, being found out in his macking on Lettie. Dad seemed to require some kind of forfeit, a concession on Dean's part. So he stripped out of his clothes. Ditched the plain bra they'd bought from the handsy lady at the department store and pulled on the lace bra, leaning forward to settle his tits into the cups, just like the lady had showed him. He stepped into the panties and that was a surprise. The lace and satin felt kind of good, especially when he pulled them into place and they snugged his cock and balls up against his body. He kind of liked it actually. When he looked in the mirror there were two bright spots on his cheeks where he was blushing. He put on the garter belt too, but when he tried to pull on the stockings, they caught and tugged on his leg hair a little. 

"You done yet, Dean?" Dad asked, coming into the room. He stopped a few paces away from Dean and devoured him with a look. Dean's cock hardened too. This was obviously driving Dad crazy, like it'd be another minute more and he wouldn't be able to keep his hands off Dean.

"Not yet," Dean said. "Can't quite manage these stockings."

"I think you need to shave your legs, sweetheart," John said.

"Shave my legs? No way," Dean said. "Are you kidding me?"

"Yes, shave your legs," Dad said. He lifted Dean up and set him on the counter of the bathroom vanity. He tugged aside the crotch of the panties, fondling Dean's cock through the satin fabric, then he plunged a couple of fingers into Dean's cunt, fucking them in and out. Then, just as Dean was really starting to get into it, Dad stopped, took his hands away. "Not going to let you come until you shave your legs and put those stockings on. I'll help you."

John got his own razor out of his toiletries bag and lathered Dean's legs up with soap, taking time to tease Dean's cock with slow strokes through the panties, rubbing his thumb on the head of Dean's cock, until the panties were damp with pre-come and pussy juice. Then he pulled the razor across Dean's legs in long, steady strokes, rinsing the blade constantly, as it got full with Dean's long leg hair with every stroke. Soon, Dean's legs were bare, smooth as if they were a kid's. Dad rinsed the last of the soap away with a wet washcloth, then toweled them dry. Only then did Dad lovingly pull the stockings up Dean's legs and hook them up to the garter belt.

'Oh, God, you are one hot little cunt," Dad said. "You dress up so pretty. Such a sexy bitch for me."

Then he tugged the panties aside again and hiked Dean's legs up and started fucking his pussy, right there on the bathroom counter and Dean didn't have anything to say for quite a long time, unless it was a curse or a demand for more. 

Dean wasn't sure, but he thought he heard himself say, "Harder, fuck me harder, you bastard."

That earned him a mild slap to the rear and being pushed back. John slowed his pace and grabbed Dean by the tits, squeezing them. Or rather, expressing the milk in them. It leaked and dribbled through the lace fabric, beading up on his abdomen like pearls before dripping down in skinny trickles. Then John pulled Dean's tits out of the cups of the bra and suckled on them for a while, not long, because it must have been uncomfortable, the way he had to bend to suck on them while not taking his dick out of Dean's cunt. With one hand on Dean's cock, the other on Dean's left tit, his mouth on Dean's right tit, John all but forced an orgasm out of Dean. It was sudden, hard and left Dean breathless. Then John left Dean's tits alone, in favor of focusing on the fucking and came himself, right into Dean's pussy, a moment later. Dean could feel the warm wetness flood his cunt, then John slumped, putting his head on Dean's shoulder for a moment.

When he recovered a little, he looked up and said, "God, Sweetheart. It just feels so damn good to come into your pussy. We're going to get you on the pill or something because I can't give that up."

And Dean, because he was feeling weak, tired and blissed out from coming just said, "Okay."

"That's my good girl," John said. Then he lifted Dean and carried him out of the bathroom and into the bed. He said to Sam, "You need to nurse from Dean now. His breasts are still pretty full."

So Sam climbed into bed with them and latched his mouth onto Dean's left tit while John took the right side. Sam fussed a while before he finally said, "I don't like that bra. It's itchy on my face. Can you take it off, Dean?"

So John helped Dean out of the bra, but not out of the rest of the get up. They all settled back into bed, mouths on his breasts. Dean sighed, with relief that the pressure that he been building in his tits was gone, with tiredness, and with something like happiness, knowing that he'd provided both pleasure and sustenance to the two men in his life. He didn't need stolen kisses from girls to feel happy, did he? He fell asleep like that.

 

They moved on in the morning, to ranch country in Texas, following up on rumors of a chupacabra that needed to be hunted down but it was a frustrating hunt for John. Every time he thought he'd closed in on the beast, it'd turned out to be a coyote with mange or something like that. Sam and Dean were left alone in the motel a lot. It had no pool, but blessedly cold central air and cable, so there was a lot of tv watching. John focused on the hunt and gave Dean no more than cursory sexual attention, leaving Sam to be the one to suckle on Dean's breasts almost exclusively. Sam and the pump. Dean got used to snuggling with Sam nursing, while they both watched television. Dean ended up shaving his legs again and again, in frustration because of how unpleasant it was to have the itchy, scratchy stubble all over them. Dad even bought him razors of his own. At least Dean wasn't compelled to wear the itchy lace bra again, nor the garter belt. If he sometimes wore the satin panties that was his own business and only because how he liked how they felt on his junk. 

Finally, after about three weeks, Dad ganked the real chupacabra, a foul, stinking beast that looked nothing like a coyote with mange and they left Texas behind.

"Thank God, that's over," Dad said as the state line was disappearing in the rear view mirror of the Impala. "If I owned Hell and Texas, I'd live in Hell and rent out Texas."

As usual though, Dad didn't tell them where they were headed. All Dean knew was that they were headed east again, but not north and it wasn't until they'd left Alabama behind and were driving across the bridge that spanned Escambia Bay that Dad said, "How do you two feel about Florida for the fall, maybe the winter? I've got a couple of hunts lined up in the state. You two can go to the same school for a couple of months at least."

That's how they ended up renting someone's RV at the Merry D RV sanctuary just outside of Kissimmee. It wasn't even one of the good RVs, but some all but immobile wreck from the early eighties, nearly as old as Dean and smelling of everyone of those damp, hot Florida summers. The whole place reeked of mildew no matter how much Dean scrubbed at the walls with bleach water and aired the place out. The mildew smell made Dean kind of nauseous, especially in the morning for some reason. There was a TV, but they were stuck with broadcast channels again, no cable, of course. No pool. No pretty girls, just old people who came and went, retirees living out their dreams of being on the open road with their RV. 

Once school started, it was better in some ways, worse in others. At least they weren't stuck in an RV all day, the Florida sun beating down on its metal roof, on the other hand, Dean was running out of creative reasons to explain to the other boys in his unavoidable gym class why his legs were shaved and had just taken to punching anyone who gave him shit, which got him into trouble a lot, which got Dad pissed at him, because the unofficial Winchester motto was, "Don't draw the attention of the authorities." But then, Dad wasn't the one who had to put up with these low lifes snapping his bra, especially because Dean's tits, after another round of the lactation medication had been injected into them at Dad's insistence, were huger and more tender than ever. He kind of spilled over the bras that had been gotten just weeks ago, but Dad didn't take him bra shopping again. 

Dad also kept putting off the promised appointment at the doctor to put Dean on the pill, but about three weeks after they got there, he loaded the boys into the Impala and drove them to this crappy low-rent looking clinic in Orlando. After hours, so this visit was with one of Dad's contacts, who knew if the guy was even a real doctor?

It turned out the guy was one of Dad's old Marine buddies. Dad called him Doc, not because of his medical degree, but because that had been his nickname back in Vietnam. His actual name was Geordie FitzSimmons and he was huge, like Dad. Maybe even bigger- taller, broader, with hair that had gone completely gray early. They spent several minute reminiscing before they got around to medical issues.

"Field medic," Doc had explained. "Then I went to med school after I got out."

John explained what they wanted, and added, "Dean's got this older boyfriend, can't keep his hands to himself. I tried to keep them separate, but you can't watch them every single minute of the day."

"It's okay, Johnny," Doc said. "Here at the clinic, I see kids a lot younger than Dean with babies already. Let's get your boy on the pill. Sometimes, when they're ready to start stepping out, there's nothing you can do about it. Best just to be realistic and do damage control."

Then he addressed himself to Dean, "This boyfriend of yours. He knows to use condoms, right?"

"Always, except for a couple of times. But I took Plan B each time he didn't," Dean said, thinking about how carefully he'd taken those emergency contraceptive pills. 

"That's fine every now and then, but you shouldn't be doing it as a regular thing. Now, I want you to keep him wearing condoms even after we get you on the pill. There's things out there you want to worry about, even if you can't get pregnant."

Before Dean knew it, he was flat on his back, in a open backed gown that had been washed to threadbare, feet in stirrups, butt scooted down and some stranger with a crew cut had his fingers in Dean's pussy, frowning as he palpated Dean's parts. Then came the speculum. It was kind of cold and it kind of pinched when it was opened, but not nearly as bad as Dean had feared. It looked like some kind of torture device, but instead it was merely unpleasant.

He felt up Dean's breasts too, not in a sexy kind of way, just prodding them in a regular pattern. Then he prodded in just the right, or maybe wrong, way and a bit of milk dribbled out of Dean's nipple, wetting the exam gown. He'd had Sam suck as much of the milk out of his tits as possible right before the appointment, so the doctor wouldn't find out he was making milk.

"Huh? You're lactating a little," Doc said. "Could be a hormonal imbalance. We may have to do some blood work."

"Okay, I want you to go pee in this cup," Doc said, finally, handing him a little urine collection jar. 

When Dean came back with the filled up jar, Doc took some of Dean's blood. He wrapped a latex tube around Dean's upper arm to get the blood vessels to swell up, then he plunged a needle into the crook of Dean's elbows and filled up three or four small test tubes with dark ruby red blood. Then Doc went off to another room, leaving Dean alone with Dad in the exam room. Sam was off in the waiting room, nose in a book. The rest of the clinic was quiet and dark, being after hours. 

"Doing real good, Deano," Dad said. 

"It's humiliating, having your old Marine buddy sticking his hands in my twat," Dean said. 

Before long Doc came back into the room and he said, "I'm afraid putting your boy on the pill is closing the barn door long after the horses have got out."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, though he was afraid he actually knew.

"I mean you're pregnant, Dean," Doc said. 

Dean couldn't help it. The words slipped out of his mouth. "Son of a bitch!"

"Dean! Language," Dad said. "He's pregnant?"

"Several weeks by the feel of it. We'd have to ultrasound you to get an exact date, but I'm thinking eight weeks already at least from the feel of your uterus. As for the lactation, the pregnancy explains that. It's not unheard of for a carrier to start lactating this early in a pregnancy. Hormone levels fluctuate a lot in a carrier's first pregnancy."

"But I can't be pregnant. I took the Plan B. I followed the directions exactly."

"Doesn't always work," Doc said. "No birth control is perfect. We don't do abortions here, but I know an OB does them in his office on the quiet, if that's what you want, Dean."

"No, thanks, but we won't be getting him an abortion," Dad said. The old man was smiling, for God's sake. Looking a little shocked, but with a big, dumb grin on his face. 

"I didn't think you were religious, Johnny," Doc said.

"I'm not, but we're not killing my first grandchild," Dad said. "There are too few Winchesters in the world as it is. We'll figure things out. Make thing work."

Dean wanted to protest, wanted to hear what his options were. He was pregnant? Dad had planted a baby in him, despite the condoms and plan B and everything. Dean thought of how he'd be, all fat, huge and round. More like a female already. It wasn't like he was even wanting a baby. It was about all he could do to take care of Sam when Dad was gone. Dad seemed to have made up his mind though and Dean was just going to have go along. Dad was like a train. You got on board with him or you got out of his way, or you suffered the consequences. 

Eventually, they made it out of the door of the clinic with an appointment for regular hours for an ultrasound, an order to start taking pre-natal vitamins and a lot of worried clucking from Doc about how young Dean was. 

"I thought you'd seen kids even younger than him with babies," John said.

"I have, and I've seen a lot of bad outcomes," Doc said. "Look, just stay on him to take his vitamins and eat well. We'll talk more at his next appointment about how we can have a good outcome for him."

On the way back to the car, Sam pestered him, "What's going on with Dean? Are you okay, Dean?"

"I'm pregnant," Dean said, wearily. 

"You're gonna have a baby!" Sam said excitedly. He almost bounced as he walked. "I'm gonna be a big brother finally."

"Am I the only one that doesn't think this having a baby thing is a good idea?" Dean muttered as he got into the car. Even so, he didn't buckle himself in, but snuggled up against John, for comfort. He felt tired, and he just wanted to snuggle up against his lover. He wanted to be held and told that everything would be all right. John draped his arm over Dean's shoulder, so Dean snuggled in deeper and tried to think good thoughts about this baby he was apparently having.

As they drove back to the RV park in the dark, John wrapped an arm around Dean's shoulder and started talking plans. "We'll leave Florida. I'm sick of the bugs and humidity already. We'll set up some place new, where they don't know us. We can get you set up with a false id and with a statement from a physician that you're pregnant, you're old enough to get married in South Carolina. How about it, Dean, you want to be my wife and step mom to my son? Wear my ring? Not have to hide any more? Would you be my little wife? Have my baby? Maybe a few more?"

Oh, god, this was so fucked up it was beyond belief, but there an attraction to it as well. His role would be defined. Maybe there wouldn't be any more kissing pretty girls, but any pretty girls would see his ring and know he was off limits and they wouldn't try and tempt him. Yeah, it was fucked up, but his whole life had always been a huge morass of fucked up and not normal.

"You wanting to marry me, that's all kinds of screwed up," Dean said. "You know, I'm going to have to call you John. People will think its suspicious if your new wife calls you Dad."

"We'll figure out the details later," John said. "Just say you'll do it. I've always wanted a home for you, Dean. We'll get a little house. Settle down. No more hunting for you."

"No more training?" Sam asked from the back seat.

"No more training for Dean," John said.

"Does this mean I can go to the same school all the time?" Sammy asked.

"It sure does, sport," John said. "I can't promise we'll never move again, but you will be in a school for years, not weeks or months."

"Dad? Will I have to give up Dean's milk if he has a baby to give it to?"

"Not entirely," Dad said. "Dean should be able to make enough for the baby and for us to have a little every day too."

"It's okay, I can share Dean," Sammy said. "I probably shouldn't be drinking so much of his milk. It's given me a big tummy."

Sam had gotten a little chubby tummy since he'd been sucking down so much of Dean's milk. Dean had noticed, but it had actually been a relief to see. Sam had always been too skinny as far as Dean was concerned. He was too short for his age too, a petite child in most ways, except his over sized brain. 

"You're just stocking up for a growth spurt, Sam," John said. "You're just like I was at your age. I was short and stocky from ten to thirteen and then I just sprouted up like a tree."

"You did?"

"I did. You'll probably grow to be at least as tall as me," John said.

It was weird, listening to them talk, just like normal, like it was a done deal that Dean would be having this baby. Shouldn't everyone be freaking out? Dad especially should be freaking out, instead, he was just feeling up Dean's tit as they were driving, like he did so often. The thought of a new baby and a new life seemed to make both of them really happy. Could Dean deny that happiness, especially to Sam? Maybe he could learn to treat this like normal, just like he'd learned to treat everything else in his fucked up life as normal. 

Later, when they'd made it home to the RV, John dug through his notebook and after a short while, pulled out the sheets of instructions that had come with the lactation drugs. They were two, now crumpled and much folded sheets. One was hand written and sparse, the instructions for how to administer the drug. The other was covered with dense, small text. John spent a while studying that page, before pointing to a section, and then reading, "Drug interactions- Warning, this drug may interfere with or disrupt many forms of hormonal birth control especially emergency oral contraception such as Plan B, ella and Next Choice."

Then John said, "I suppose I should have read the warnings more carefully. I'm glad I didn't. I'm so happy you're going to be having my baby, sweetheart."

John put the notebook with the drug instruction sheets to the side and he motioned for Dean to come sit on his lap. Dean took his place on John's lap, put his arms around the man and said, "Yeah, me too."

***

John hid in the darkness in the corner of the nursery, like he had every night since little baby Mary Jane had gotten close to six months. She was exactly six months old tonight. The creature would come, he wouldn't be able to resist the temptation. Dean was in the bedroom, ordered to stay there no matter what. He felt the cold, heavy piece in his hands. It had taken years of selling stolen RPGs and landmines, working deals, to obtain enough cash to reach Elkins breaking point and buy it. You could buy a decent house for less than his deal with Elkins, but this gun was supposed to kill anything. Made by legendary hunter Samuel Colt himself. It'd better be worth it.

Mary Jane started fussing just little and it was tempting to step out of the darkness to comfort her, but he didn't. He had a feeling about tonight. This would be the night something happened and it did. The door to the nursery creaked open and swung wide. A man, no, not a man. A thing, wearing the body of man, walked in.

"Well, you are a twisted son of a bitch," the thing said. "I have to say, this is in my league. Having a baby with your son and using her as bait when she's too young to even talk."

The eyes of the man flashed yellow for a moment. John didn't talk. Didn't take the demon's bait. John stood by his choices, as unconventional as they were. He just raised the gun and pulled the trigger. This was the moment he'd been waiting for, over ten years in the making. The demon collapsed to the floor, flashes of unnatural light illuminating his rib cage, his bones. Then the creature was dead, still. Mary Jane started screaming, so John picked her up and she didn't quiet, but she wouldn't, not until she got her mouth on Dean's breast. She had that much in common with the other Winchesters, she loved Dean's breast milk. John waited a moment until he was certain that the demon was absolutely dead before he walked out of the room and grabbed the phone from the hallway. 

It was tempting to just hide the body, but they had neighbors now, including one who was a sheriff's deputy, who would have heard the gun shot. So he dialed the emergency number and when he got his answer, he said, "You need to send police here now. There was an intruder. He was trying to hurt my daughter or steal her or something. I had to shoot him."

He forced himself to sound scattered, upset, the way a normal person would sound when they'd just shot someone. All he actually felt was a calm sense of satisfaction. He'd done what he needed to do. He'd protected his family, put an end to the plans the yellow-eyed bastard had for Sam and taken vengeance, finally, for Mary. But mostly, what he cared about was protecting his small, young family. 

He entered the bedroom with Mary Jane in his arms and discovered that Sam had snuck into bed with Dean and was nursing. 

"You'd better have saved enough for your sister," John told him as he passed the baby over to Dean. 

"I just took a little bit," Sam said 

"It's okay, John," Dean said. He squeezed Sam in a one armed hug even as he expertly placed the youngest Winchester at his breast. She rooted around a moment then found a nipple and got to work. "I asked him to help me out. I was getting engorged and Mary Jane was sleeping and I knew you didn't want her disturbed. 

Dean was dressed in just a pair of boxer shorts. He tended to sleep like that these days, unless John made a special request for something a bit sexier. It made it easy for everyone to get to his tits. He'd finally grown out his hair a bit, not to his back, like John wanted, but it curled around his ears, touched the tops of his shoulders. His tits had gotten to be huge, what with the pregnancy and all the milk he was making. His belly was soft, never got flat again after he gave birth to Mary Jane. Besides, it'd be expanding again soon. He was four months pregnant. Dean's OB had had a fit to see him knocked up again so soon, so young, but John hadn't been able to keep his hands to himself, nor could he bear to go back to condoms. 

John was thinking about all the delicious things he could do to Dean once the kids were gotten back to their own beds, but he was startled out these pleasant thoughts by a banging on the front door from downstairs. The sheriff's deputy must be here. They lived outside city limits so it was the jurisdiction of the county sheriff. It was fast though. It'd been less than three minutes since he'd shot the yellow-eyed bastard. Maybe it was his neighbor.

"I know, I was fast asleep until I heard the gun shot," Dean said, reaching for the robe he'd shed earlier. 

 

***

 

Deputy Smokey Gainsworth had been startled from a sound sleep by the sound of big ass gun shot coming from his neighbor's house. It wasn't that loud by the time it reached his ears but it was a familiar, unmistakeable sound. The only house close enough for him to have heard it that loudly would have to be his newest neighbors- the Winchesters. They'd moved in just under a year ago and Smokey still wasn't sure what to think of them, whether he should like Winchester or not. On one hand, the man had taken a child bride, gotten the teenage carrier boy pregnant, then apparently, pregnant again three months after the birth of his first child. It must take some kind of creep to do that. On the other hand, Winchester treated that child bride of his like he was some kind of precious treasure. He had waited hand and foot on the pregnant boy and indulged him in every way. Looked at him with eyes full of pure adoration. 

Well, hell, he was awake, Smokey thought. Best check things out, see if the Winchesters were all right. He'd needed to be awake in about three hours for his early shift anyway. It was the work of a moment to pull on his already laid out uniform. He picked up his gun belt out of the wall safe and buckled it on. The he grabbed his walkie and called in, explained about the gunshot, asked if they'd heard anything on it yet.

"Mr. Winchester just called. It was an intruder, trying to hurt their precious little girl," Millie, the dispatch clerk said. "He had to shoot the intruder."

"Swell, a body is just what we all need a oh dark thirty," Smokey quipped. It was a small town surrounded by a mostly rural county but you got called out on far more homicides than you'd think. The meth labs and pot fields seemed to make more than their fair share of gruesome. "I'll head on over, see what's going on. Who have you sent over so far?"

"No one yet," Millie said. "Just got the call. Mr. Winchester sounds very upset."

"I'll bet," Smokey said. "Send Nick, Matt and the wagon over. Should be more than enough. I'll let you know if we need the forensic unit."

With that, Smokey let himself out of his house, thankfully not having woken the wife and kids, walked down the two hundred feet of his driveway, then up the two hundred or so feet of his neighbor's drive. The man's car was parked at the top of the drive. Smokey would be lying if he said he wasn't at least a little envious of the man's car. What a classic, a sixty-seven and pristine as the day she came off the lot. Must have done all the work on her himself. Winchester was a mechanic, had his own business, restoring and rebuilding classic cars. You could even see that child bride of his under the hood too sometime. 

A moment later he was knocking on the door. He didn't mean to bang so loudly on it, but it got to be a habit, knocking on doors like you meant business and you'd be breaking them down in a minute or two. 

A short while later, Winchester was letting him in the front door. The whole little family was gathered in the living room of the old farmhouse that Smokey, still, even though he didn't believe in that garbage, thought of as the haunted house. Lizzie Mason had murdered each and every one of her nine babies and her husband in that house. He sometimes wondered about the series of grave desecrations in the Mason family plot about a year ago, the same time the Winchesters came to town. Still, the man had gotten a hell of a deal on the place because it was a good house with a bad reputation. 

The child bride, what was his name, Dan? Dane? No, it was Dean. Well, he was nursing his baby and sitting on the sofa. The first couple of times Smokey had seen Dean, he hadn't been sure that he was a boy, what with that longish hair and the pregnant belly and the giant knockers. The tendency of the boy to wear really feminine clothing didn't help, but once you got up close to the boy and actually talked to him there was no doubt in your mind that he was a boy and a boy's kind of boy at that. He might be dressed in a floral print shirt, have lipstick on, and be nursing a baby but he seemed more comfortable under the hood of a car than any place else.

Winchester's oldest kid, Sean? No, Sam. Sam was curled up in the corner of the sofa, looking worried and tired, eyes hooded and guarded. He should have been asleep, well, they all should be, but especially the little ones. 

"What happened, Mr. Winchester?" Smokey asked. 

So Winchester walked him through it. Showed him the open back door, with scratches around the lock like you might find from an amateur lock pick job, the nursery upstairs where the body laid still, not yet cold, but definitely and decidedly dead. Showed him the museum piece gun that he'd shot the guy with- a great big honking Colt revolver. Not that Smokey liked dead bodies showing up for any reason, but this was a pretty clear cut case of home invasion. And the guy had been in Winchester's baby's room for God's sake. He couldn't have been there for any good kind of reason.

"You know this guy at all?"

"Never seen him before in my life," Winchester said.

"Now, what happened again?"

"I thought I heard noises, so I grabbed my gun. I was going to head downstairs first, but I decided to check on Mary Jane first. Then he was suddenly in the room with me. So I took my shot."

By then, the rest of the sheriff's department, pretty much all of it, had arrived. It was getting on to morning. Their tiny forensics department and the ME had a good look at the crime scene and body. The dead guy's pockets were searched. No wallet, no ID, but they found the lock picks in his pocket and a pretty generic Smith and Wesson forty-five shoved in the back of his pants. It was nothing that convinced Smokey that the stranger was in this house doing something good. 

"Well, the prosecutor's going to have to make the final decision," Smokey said as he walked downstairs with Winchester. "But it looks pretty clear cut to me. Hell, I'd have taken the shot myself. Maybe not with such a damn museum piece though. You're lucky that thing didn't blow up in your hand. How is your wife handling this?"

"A little hysterical at first, when he realized this monster had been going for our baby," Winchester said. 

They stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked at Dean. The carrier boy had stretched out on the sofa, baby still at the breast. The boy's robe had slipped all the way open, exposing both breasts. Man, Smokey thought, what a great pair of hooters. Just the size Smokey liked 'em, not too big, not too little, not at all saggy. The baby looked wide awake even if Dean was probably asleep. Must be nice, Smokey thought. All that sweet, young pussy, on tap anytime you wanted it. He wondered how Winchester had ended up with such a pretty, sexy wife, one so young he'd needed to get the boy's written permission to marry him. The man's car wasn't his only envy causing possession. 

"We'll be in touch," Smokey said, sparing one last glance back at Dean. "And the next time someone breaks into your house, call us before you go and shoot him, not after."

"Will do, Deputy," Winchester said. "Will do."


End file.
